MEMORIES OF WAR

Northeast Review

Chielozona Eze

Raising the Dead

If I didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t know.
Place your thumb on my heart – a scar.
Press a little harder – a grave.
In it repose the memories of war children
pretzeled by hunger,
children whose stomachs were globes.
I know them.
I was one of them.
I died my own death
when my mama groaned aloud for God to hear:
Please stop this war.

I am an undertaker.
Flowers no longer move my heart.
But where do I pour this handful of tears of the woman
calling on her soldier husband in the casket?

I am an undertaker.
But I am scared.
My eyes are now trained
on the many comatose, who hold on to the hope
that we would reach them a helping hand,
lift them from the graveyard of grit without gains,
the never-ending war of us against the weak.

In…

View original post 256 more words

Advertisements

Would love to have your thoughts, please...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s