the light reaches us, more are dead,
more living rooms are broken open to the street,
more ornamented buildings are destroyed.
By the time we wake here on the coast,
another guided missile has locked on to its target,
another bomb has fallen on an ancient port,
another dying child is carried in her mother’s arms.
By the time the light reaches us, empty
sunflower fields are pitted with more craters. Soon
another night will begin, slowly at first,
then all at once.
Copyright 2022 Carolyn Miller.Carolyn Miller’s publications include Light, Moving (Sixteen Rivers Press, 2009) and Route 66 and its Sorrows (Terrapin Books, 2017). She lives in San Francisco.
Vox Populi 
Wonderful poem by a knockout writer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I completely agree, Jerry!
M. Michael Simms https://www.michaelsimms.info
Author of Nightjar Author of American Ash Founder of Autumn House Press Editor of Vox Populi
>
LikeLiked by 1 person