The Refugee and the Reaper
Behind me is the destroyed town,
toxic, black smoke still rising,
struts bent like tarred fingers
grasping upwards for salvation.
I am in golden fields, ripe
with wheat in the harvest season.
The aroma of fresh timber stands by.
This place of plenty tempts me to rebuild.
If I had a locket of you, I would grasp it now.
I would resist the temptation to plan,
to pour new foundation, to work the wood,
knowing it was I who destroyed that town.
I am both refugee and reaper.
Mercy and Grace are hand-holding twins
skipping around the harvest, stirring chaff
from wheat, singing their school songs.
Eyes red from the chaff, I pause in the fields.
About the Creator
Richard Holleman
I studied English Literature at the University of Oregon. My work has been published in the poetry magazines Midstream, Awakenings Review, Miller’s Pond Poetry, and Torrid Literature Journal.
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By Barbara Gode Wilesa day ago in Fiction
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