July 2006/Volume Seven/Issue Two
John Sweet
easter

you alone in
the house of truths

the news of twelve soldiers
ambushed and slaughtered

the news of bodies being
set on fire and
dragged through city streets

and not the sun but almost

not warmth but
the memory of it

the snow melted and
the streets grey and the screams
of animals caught in traps

the blurred reflections of strangers
in the windshields of empty cars

all of these words and all of
these images that refuse to
add up to anything more than
themselves but you still have to
stop and consider each one

you still have to dig
until the bodies are found

it shouldn't take much longer
than the rest of your life
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