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April. And the air dry As the shoulders of a water

April. And the air dry As the shoulders of a water buffalo. Grasshoppers scratch at the dirt, rub their wings with thin legs flaring out in front of the soldiers in low arcing flights, wings a blur. The soldiers don’t notice anymore, seeing only the wreckage of the streets, bodies draped with sheets, and the sun, how bright it is, how hard and flat and white. It will take many nails from the coffinmakers to shut out this light, which reflects off everything: the calloused feet of the dead, their bony hands, their pale foreheads so cold, brilliant in the sun. ©Abinesh How Bright it is
abinesh3049

Abinesh

New Creator

How Bright it is #Poetry

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