March 5, 2007


Her arms flew up around his body
like two white flags
surrendering, her legs
convulsed, as though she was dying,
her breasts looked
like two unblinking eyes,
and her skin, though clean
and smelling of harmless things,
was like miles of blinding sand.

His hands opened helplessly.
He wept. She did not know what to say,

and in the other room,
the television muttered
like a shell-shocked Greek chorus,

"106 more killed this month,
bringing the total to . . ."

Fall 2006.

No comments: