we could feel the pressure before the
bombs hit,
and the way the sky shifted, a shadow of coal
hurdling its urging body towards an impending color of red;
from not the dim decay of a setting sun
but the weeping of our bodies
in the same moment the buildings would fall.

we could feel the cradle in earth
where we lay embalmed in dissected cement,
in open cracks teeming desperate-child arms.
it was silent, lasting only a moment
before our ears would adjust,
before a wave of awareness hit us,
worse than a bomb, worse than the remains of our homes,
resting against our toes,
because we knew those screams,
we became familiar with them.

and it was dusk, but above it was covered in light,
as our bodies were put to bed,
without our mothers, without our fathers;
but a blanket of ash to cover us,
and we'd choke on the particles
as it swarmed it's nails into our throats,
and we wouldn't breathe - we couldn't even conjure up the thought.

cries in our language were not known beyond these borders
but they were heard between a choir of people,
a bundle of bodies in a father's arms, as he kissed his sons goodbye


min faDlik…

…min faDlik