WAR

 

Mother, I have come home from the war

temporarily. Accepting my losses like a good soldier,

picking the scabs from my wounds.

 

In the field among smoke I murdered

many men for you. The first to go was your

father. I put rose petals in his mouth to cover

the stench of whiskey, then bound his hands with

our tears and poverty.

 

I cut off the blood circulation to his manhood,

and watched it turn as black as your childhood.

Then I laughed and smoked a cigarette, told God

I could never be like Jesus.

 

When I go back, I shall have Shakespeare and

Rossetti by my side. They are ancient heroes

and trust no one.

Heather Lenz is a 31 year-old female originally from the Seattle area who now resides in North Carolina. Some of her work has appeared previously in Enigma Rag, Adoration, Poetic Hours, Almia and The Indented Pillow. Along with writing poetry, she also enjoys painting.

Dance to Death, Issue V

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.