IBBETSON STREET PRESS - SELECTED WORKS

 

HOW OUR DEAD COME BACK TO US
for W.

They come back by night,
airborne over the ocean
to touch down in darkness
on our eastern shore.

We never see them arriving,
casket by casket. It is forbidden
to witness their terrible silence,
their flag-bright shrouds.

But we know they keep coming,
body by fallen body.
And as they come, we hear
waves thundering like drums—

for what   for what   for what
for greed   for lies   for nothing.

© DORIAN BROOKS

 

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