Marker

This entry is part 31 of 73 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2011-12

Hard to say now where a seam in the soil
marked the place where a row of villagers

with their arms tied behind their backs
slumped to the ground after the order

to fire. Someone has engraved a plaque
to show where something was raised

from rubble— But dark wounds petal
every patch of earth under stone

and gravel. Someone has pledged
a troth or signed his name in blood

at the base of a monument. Bird wing
or flag flutter? It’s hard to tell

when shadows lengthen and currents
darken: so many faces in the river.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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