Displaced

 

She cried that Spring,

tears of a mother,

with girls four and two.

 

Tank tracks through the busted-up road

became rivers of her salt eye fluid,

with crumbled banks of asphalt

and beds of mud.

 

Hollow dwellings were found humanless,

fit for shells and bits of bombs,

casings seeded through broken glass,

gardens harbouring Scorpions.

 

Desperate, she felt the cool winter air

blowing from north-west

towards home.

 

ⓒ 'Moth 2020-2024