Sitting in the fallout.
Pacing circles
in the day,
after day,
after day
after;
fighting for clarity.
Wandering past
old, familiar hearth stones.
Places I
formed my memories.
Everything’s a memory, now.
You can’t touch it.
No.
It’s still hot
from the blast,
from the fire.
Ash still rains down,
and the shadows
on the wall
are still there,
long after the people are gone.
There’s agony,
and wailing.
The lost,
and the found,
that wish
that they had been
counted among the dead.
I can’t tell you when,
but one day,
they sky will clear.
All this will disappear,
but I can’t say
we’ll live to see it.
Suffice it to say,
we’ve gone wrong
along the way,
but somehow,
that’s okay.
It’s all over now,
but the crying,
mourning,
and fear.
We’ll rebuild it,
better.
After the fire goes out.
HG – 2020
