War – Childhood - Riemeke Ensing
Images sear themselves
into the retina of the heart.
All those memories –
stones weighted to fell.
Even the rhododendron
a splash of blood in the garden,
or parachute silk fallen from sky
on a clear day
at the start of life
and the shot forever echoing
in poems. A thousand fragments
glistening as stars flashing signs.
Fathers, mothers, all the families
up there sharing the promise of stories,
the nostalgia of song, the friction of clouds
rushing to meet where blues speak.
From the landscape of the face
I lick salt.