The stink of a fawn
too small to get through winter
killed by anti-burning
snow
not yet melted from the carcass
Bones defrost from skin
making double crosses
After the cold war the killing heat
the burning photographs
of singed bodies
in plastic bags
heading for home
piled in double crosses
Jesus Christ
was not a general in World War II
but think
how long Eisenhower was spared
the miracle of death
If a prophet were alive
Today
we would know
no suffering in Biafra
Whose black mothers
surely love their children
enough to miscarry
The peace
of Easter lilies
force-bloomed
as one sterile image
white and august
Like nuns in summer habits
black and white are the pages
I tear each day from the calendar
and think
of Chuang Tzu saying
There is nothing
older than a dead child
David Swoyer
Contents | Mudlark No. 1
The Viewing | Collision