Slow Trains Literary Journal

c

War and the Wordless

by Kathryn Gresham-Lancaster

The moon wept giant ponds that plopped over the ruined earth
The moon sucked the trees into her craters
Licked the streets clean of hardened skin

All across the wide world
The sound of walloping waters
And hissing grasses

All across the flapping sky
The shouts of routed stars
The screams of fur backed trees
And greening animals

The little hands of stones
Beating on the rooftops

©1991 by Kathryn Gresham-Lancaster

Author's note: This poem was an immediate reaction to the bombing of Iraq in 1991. I sought it out the week after the bombing on September 11. It still speaks to my horror at the loss of innocent life.

Kathryn Gresham-Lancaster is a writer, art teacher, and performer in the San Francisco Bay Area. She has published in the online journal, Recursive Angel. She has been, in various incarnations: a theatre director (Hundreth Monkey Productions), actor, and performance artist.

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