It has been a while...but I'm back....with a poem about last night's alarm... and a picture of Maya when she was a baby...
The shrieking vail of the siren, another alarm,
and the dream implodes behind the eyelids
impaling them in thin, broken shards.
In between the up and down undulating sound
and the rocket hitting the ground
there is a general silence
a huge breath holding
we all exhale
and do a body check
a body count
is everyone all right?
"Mummy, who are the people that make the rockets
to kill mothers
Gather around you the tattered night
and go to sleep
you have to finish your dream.