War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Lazarus (11)

I hate this fucking war he said
February brittle Canadian ice breaths
dusk, when pinks and blues wear off

in the mountains, snow angels
pine trees, a log lodge, fresh linens
a trek, a patrol she’d led

in the mountains. ease, a gauzy curtain
through an open balcony door as they slept
soft and white, cool to tattoe’ed skin

peace, more peace—
Anglo-Saxon riddles, war poems, read aloud
a game of chess (the warrior won of course)—

war, war, this fucking war
the beginning
of us.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled Lazarus (11). It was posted here on July 13, 2011.

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