War by Regina Harris Baiocchi

War crushes dreams
with the crisp snap
of a dry wishbone.

It kills spirits
with bitter eulogies
no one can read.

It silences life,
Distills our daughters and sons 
Who no longer shiver
or have to watch their backs.
They cannot sass us anymore.

Damn those mothers
who birthed the monsters
who sign war decrees
who push red buttons and force me

To leave my children—
laughter stilled in their throats—

To bury my children,
Their young bodies
fertilize flowers we kill
to arrange at their graves.

 1997-2000 Regina Harris Baiocchi