always fire

down at the river
the blood washes off
swirling
like ribbons
then breaking
like red glitter floating
shimmering
glinting in the sun
gliding down the river
in search of peace

the women come here
to wash the clothes
stained from war
wiping food from childrens' mouths
talking of the animals' nightmares
their husbands' habits
and their own fetid dreams

since the bombs stopped
the village is quiet
washed in blue sky
the dust has settled
on the red rooves of houses
baking in the sun

the children wonder
why the silver flying machines have gone
and if the men with guns
will return to share their dinners
and drink their water

they draw pictures
men shouting
screaming
running
and fire
always fire

down at the river

the blood washes off
swirling
like ribbons
then breaking
like red glitter floating
shimmering
glinting in the sun
gliding down the river

in search of peace

the women still come
to wash the clothes
stained from war
wiping food from childrens' mouths
talking of the animals' nightmares
their husbands' habits,
and their fetid dreams
because they have nowhere else to go