War Stories

Father said, sometimes we ate
what moved among

the fallen— small things,
seed, snail, quick green, mottled

brown that swam or burrowed
low. To live is merely one

advantage— but grace,
grace is something else.

It’s what you might find
or leave for someone

at the bottom: one grain,
one mouthful of water.

It fractures, salves,
or multiplies,

depending on the angle
of the day, moonlight

or the bloom pinned
like a corsage on the chest—


In response to Via Negativa: Seeker.

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