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Janet Powers

Sarajevo Sparrows

Chittering sparrows – why here

at the door of the Sarajevo airport,

where there is nothing to eat

and people pass constantly,

scattering the birds who settle again

in the wrong place at the wrong time?

So much like the people of this city,

sitting ducks when Serbs occupied

the hills on both sides and shot

two women on a bridge, more

at the market, till sidewalks were

peppered with Sarajevo roses.

I think of a friend’s brother

captured before he knew Croats

had changed sides; a woman

pulled from her bed at night

gave birth next day in a barn.

 

But like the sparrows,

people have settled again,

content now in rebuilt homes,

hoping for a better job,

an equitable peace, maybe

prosperity will finally come.

If only big powers could see 

it was a bad arrangement,

this cutting in half of a country

that rises up, its people scattering

each time war comes their way,

always in the wrong place

at the wrong time, despite

their beautiful mountains. 

​Battlefield Loop

To stay the last day of October,
dandelions and daisy fleabane
huddle close to the earth,
fending off a stiff west wind.
An unreal sky hangs blue and clear;
my black shirt borrows warmth
from a bright autumn sun.
in the distance windshields glint,
buses martialed in yellow rows.


Bronze cannons, still poised, aim
at docile farms below; spirit-catchers
hover over red barn doors.
Today, artillery could take out
TV towers, Day’s Inn, a water tank.


I love this landscape looking out
to Appalachians west of Gettysburg,
yet when this walk seems mundane,
I stoop to scanning license plates.
Today I hardly notice passing cars:
I’m captivated by elements of earth,
awed by glory of sky, wind and sun;
primordial genes leap to worship
a god of gold and green and blue.


I see a wooly worm, mostly brown,
with black head and small black tip;
he’s traveling south like human kin,
though sweatered troupes of tourists
still cluster at the Peace Light.

Once I met a lover at this monument –
he knew of trysting paths snaking
through woods beyond, and so we
strategized a dangerous affair.
Once I walked the field opposite
with several hundred children,
flags of many countries unfurled
to mark many uneasy years
between the North and South.


Rectangles of hay, baled and tied,
counterpoint a scattering of barns;
trees, red and gold, stand guard
over fields still green with
monuments to victory and defeat.


The road loops, so I see again
the college and its gothic halls.
In the locker room I must explain
why I walked today in all that wind:
I needed sun, I always do,
sitting at my desk, eyes sore
from flickering pixels and pipes
deconstructing. Now at peace,
I celebrate this battleground.

Sean Ewing Crimson_Elegance.jpg

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray

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