On Receiving a Letter from a Soldier after his DeathMcGlinchey, Afric
Every window shows a body
moving. A man pours from a jug.
Dead plants
on a balcony above water
rushing into trees.
A woman hastens in the half-light
to a capsized child
beneath a swing.
Leaves blink,
milk-green as a corpse.
Like the city, I am pressed,
again, again,
beneath the sky’s broad palm,
its crushing weight.
Copyright © Afric McGlinchey 2016 |
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