the tower (falls)

The top has been struck by lightning twice; 
it is on fire with flame and the sound 
of their scream reaching out to touch her

I feel the sense of urgency growing 
like a knot in the ground
at the baby’s howling:

there’s a feeling you’re supposed 
to have when you know
you’re being wrong;

when you know there’s 
something to be done.

“I am a mother,” the woman speaks 
as plainly as the look upon her face.

“I am a mother,” she repeats as she
watches him fall in relief against 
a silent backdrop of trees.

The flag became white linen
wrapped around his limbs
now loose, as they become
what’s wrapping round the air;

children are to be saved at 
any cost for later use as a 
means of survival.

“I am not holding him now,”
she thinks, wondering at
the weight she still feels 
in arms draped like curled 
ribbons down her side:

this strength gave out what
love could not, like a stick 
left poking dirt too loose 
to take the shape of letters.

This is not the way to teach 
a child how to read nor 
explain ourselves as better 
than we really are.

These are all thoughts that 
pass between us and ourselves; 
between the haze of drifting 
smoke and an infant’s lot in life.

What is hers can never hold 
her interest long when nothing 
that is pure and good of heart 
can speak to god.