Prove me wrong——-
the charges, the light brigades
too quickly dimmed:
on either side, advancing
uniforms, picked
picked off——-
Numbers ticking
on a work camp list,
names misplaced & then
the pages——-
Letters, novels, biographies,
who will write history?
Snow songs, sand songs, tropics
of green, of mud, an ocean,
these landscapes, waves
singing lives.
Shelter, food, loved ones smuggled,
deported, sold——-
People will do anything, anything,
& I have no more taste
for war. Mother Courage.
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