Snatched by the storm clouds of war,
from unnatural kettles of black smoke
consuming the very ground
beneath them. Scratchy films,
newsreels interrupted by seconds
of silence as though this event
would drop out of sight forever.
Meticulous documentation preserves
the mythology of death for centuries,
for generations, for tourists.
A rake twitches, twigs snap,
I follow the sounds into the stark shadows
hanging over Remuh Cemetery at twilight.
Maria Lisella