The early morning brought her clamor and distress—
a picture in press of a mayhem bloody mess,
the woman could not quiet her legs beneath her fell
strife and anger slashed her¬¬—the depth she could not tell.
The people in the pictures stood stunt in shimmering heat
their faces salty crystals with fear they could not beat
one stood behind another, her waist securing forth
the other held her belly, the skin beneath was course.
Just then another reached out to give a helping hand
her wound was even deeper, her heart was bigger, and,
she held her little sister, her hand on ear and drum
she cramped the scream inside her, the pain to silence numb.
Around them gathered others, passes-by and such
some strangers became brothers, the horror griped the bunch
they stood there white as shadows without a word in mouth
her cry so loud and shrilly, it cut their gut like louse.
A girl came and hung around
her coat the hue of crimson mound
her eyes sky blue her mouth forlorn
her lips locked in her lovely song.
A woman swung her head with grin
her mouth in rage cleaved at her chin
her shawl she wrapped around her neck
she closed her eyes to not look back.
A maiden fair, the pale of skin
about her life was to begin
she looked around and then she stopped
her babe in hand she kneeled to drop.
A damsel painted bright and blue
her bow untied her dress unglued
her head she swung about in fear
and ran to seek another seer.
A virgin clasped her lips in teeth
the rage beneath began to seethe
her gaze so long with look so fair
her wish and faith— no longer there.
The men thus moved about the dark
with coffins shades of trees and bark
full moon above their head they carried
the sons they raised to never marry
their faces hid behind the shadows
of lime and rock and winds and bellows.
Across wide fields of scattered bones
old matrons ran from burning homes
they came to hold, once more to hug
their breasts so tender with milk like jugs
they stretched their arms once more to hold
the hole in ground so black and cold
their babes of yester-year they carried
on nights so dim young men they buried.
Amongst the flowers and the corn
they keep their faith to children born
they stop a moment to remember
to see each child, each family member.
Upon the rock engraved some words
to keep an anchor to other worlds
a faith to give and live in peace
they seal a prayer one could not miss:
…and wide green expenses sweep here and up above,
and the miracle of life will linger with each pledge to live and love…
©Yakira Shimoni Fulks | May 28, 1998 | Graymoor, IL