Wednesday, 19 October 2011

Kentucky Square

Imagine Kentucky moving to Yemen
the chicken fixing to fit into a square
filled with cascading bullets, flying feathers,
burkhas bandaged over body holes, where

frightened men write names on their chests
remembering birds banded before flight, finders
to call across seas for a voice, un-handcuffed
unburied in a fresh mound of desert sand.

Mothers, cousins, uncles identify a teen
who yesterday ran on two legs before
soldiers struck from a roof above the square,
where chickens were once sold on sticks

with onions, a bed of rice, bloodless, spicy,
crispy, square chunks. But now kids, men
and women absorb bullets, their bones splinter,
call phones ring, the air crackles, bodies do not answer.

© Lavinia Kumar

Massacre in 'Kentucky Square'
Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her family includes a variety of cultures and immigrants. Her poetry has appeared in Waterways, Thatchwork (Delaware Valley Poets), Orbis, US1 Worksheets, and more.