. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Morning

he didn’t dream of Hiroshima
of dead babies or leukemia or
of carbon bodies that marked the spot
where the quiet rumble tore
through stone and skin.


he didn’t dream of black rain
or outstretched tongues
........grateful, guileless, parched
he didn’t inhale the bouquet
of mushrooms in the morning.


from above the Little Boy
in the clear blue sky at dawn
the silver-plated beauty
shimmering incandescent in the sun:
this is what he dreamt of




for
forty-three
seconds

 
from MayDay Poetry Project 2009,
reproduced in memory of the many
who lost their lives or limbs
65 years ago this month
in Hiroshima.

4 comments:

stuart said...

je me souviens ... merci

Oddyoddyo13 said...

This was exquisite-there are hardly words to describe it!

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Thank you very much Oddy :-)

Kaleidoscope Girl said...

Such a potent poem of such a atrocious happening. Very tragic and emotive but beautiful.