(I know
the ground still remembers) – That day
you watched
as guns made the sound of many
doors closing.
A mother wandered through the fire
of bullet and loose-lipped slur,
after a small child (dressed both
in smoke and panic). You hoped
your voice would raise
faster than the shells
if only to ask her what use? You watched
as several bodies, dislodged
from a building aflame, ran
from chaos to chaos. A mother,
sunk knee-deep
in prayer (she will
never rise), while an elderly man waned
with a trunk on his back
(as heavy as his own
life), holding all he owned. You watched
as a woman gave birth
(too soon), the infant joining the many gone
silent. You watched
as that town became
the tree shaking off all of the dead –
and the ground remembers.
In a place where grass only grows
slowly now. The ground became
nothing more
than a page that holds
(this memory).
You are never
allowed to forget.
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