My First and Last War PoemWhen he came back from the war, all he saw was shrapnel. Not like the sort on the battlefield, at home there were no bodies, there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,My First and Last War Poem
She stood at the beach, brushed back a strand of hair a jellyfish washed onto shore. She knew only the dead were that clear and it reminded her of the poisonings: dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk after some jerk littered the doorsteps steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family, watched himself at the dinner table as if he weren't even e
Oriental Abyss
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we will fold and freeze together far away from here.Previous Page1234Next Page