Helen Wing’s poem is bleak, but probably accurate.
—
Attrition
‘ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant’ Tacitus
Peace comes
when everything else
is
destroyed,
when we have killed
the colours
and we stand
swaying
in a symphony
of greys.
When we walk
our steps are soft
like biting into pears,
feet crunching
through beaches
of ash
and
bone.
Peace comes
when
there is
quite simply
no
other
option,
when
there is
nothing
left
to burn
and we
can
no longer
live
here
anyway.
***
Helen Wing has published powerful work with us before. Read more of her poetry here.
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