This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO


She eyes the richness of faces longing for home,
Rucksacks and rifles tossed over slumped shoulder,
Traces of flags and banners and wood; fruitless.
This flight out will be the last toward survival.
She will not be going,
She still looks for her children,
She is citizen of the killing zone.
Her husband’s fate went uncounted
From the outset of steel-humanity’s broil.
Saddam broken, alive,
Murderer waits,
Tamed in a ruler's land
By would-be king of another.

She smiles upon them as they exit
Breathing sighs of relief danced in mourning.
What will become of the roses and the waters?
The ancient ruins, the culture shattered?
Might it request another day of its soul?
Will this become death’s chart and dark-boiled lure?
(A few of sands ruddy cheeked questions
Birdsong aloft of the broken firmament.)
She smiles and waves goodbye
To friend and foe, liberator and murderer,
Husband and wife, brother and sister,
Uncle and aunt, love and hate.

A distinct, sudden, and brief click
Sensed under the engine's breath
Over a moment of moistness
And the blinding flash.

Copyright © 2006 mrp
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