Charlie

February 9, 2013 § 1 Comment

I wish I could extract proof
from memory,
press our walks like dried flowers
between the two gates
of that little village,
always remembered differently,
always a new shade of green.

Now, I worry about thieves
and my parents’ age, the cost
of raising a child.
I worry I’m starting to forget.

At Chernobyl, more people died
of radiation poisoning
than from the explosion itself.
And when the atomic bomb was dropped
on Hiroshima,
people say shadows
were burned onto the ground,
both Japanese and American.

I can no longer draw you from memory
but I am writing you this poem
to fashion you a soul
and burn it hard
onto the world.

Where Am I?

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