Oblivious

Poem about death and nature

The priest blesses the row of boys and men, in Serbian.
I imagine the terror they must be feeling, the life flashing before their eyes.
Then, the rat-a-tat-tat of the guns.
Then the silence.

What haunts me is 
the lone bird call caught  between the blessing and the death--
a few notes, like angel dust, floating down from the trees above.

Was the bird, in fact,
adding her blessing
or just singing for joy,
oblivious?








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