Friday, September 9, 2016

The Quickening

When there is nowhere left to bury
bodies.  When throats are slit silent.
When our last language is a creaking of the gallows.
When all of our best are beneath us.
When those above us are saliva slick teeth -
spring trap jaws, snapping and grinding.
When all of the colors of collateral damage
have fallen face first in the dust.
When every bandage is a rusty ruin soaked through.
When there's noting left to do,
but cauterize the wounds
and sear the flesh.

Yes -
the quickening of burning.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads


Outlawyer said...

Yikes. Very powerful poem, MZ. Especially images like the saliva slick teeth. The use of quickening is so terrific here, as a source of life force, but also perhaps a hastening to the end. Thanks. k.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"every bandage a rusty ruin soaked through"........your imagery paints the course we are charting. "the quickening of burning" is such a stellar line.

Debi Swim said...

Strong stuff... terrifying images...

brudberg said...

The imagery of that field hospital where I can almost hear the sound of the feldsher's saw, is as terrifying as gangrene in a trench.

Susie Clevenger said...

Terrifying..War, a hell we humans create. Perhaps we are the devil.

jabblog said...

'When throats are slit silent' - fantastic line. 'Quickening' made me think of quicklime.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I do admire all those adverbial clauses of time... Time for a burning.

Gillena Cox said...

sounds like hell fire to me

much love...

Sioux said...

"When throats are slit silent" is my favorite line.

Wow (as usual).

Fireblossom said...

Good for you for trying this. I couldn't get my head around writing about a thing without mentioning it.