Saturday, April 30, 2016

A Matter Of

When they were rescued from the rubble. Half had died underneath. It was a matter of minutes buried hours days. Covered to uncovered. The bombing was a fact nobody disputed. Seeing the crater. Looking at the rubble. Forever marking the air. But what did it mean? What would it do? Handling it always questioning the weeds too many sprouting up trying to taking hold. Too much.

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