Photo by J. R. Korpa
The Killing Field
David Capps
partwise human arranged
murmurs over the asphodels
the still pushes in
wet earth toward
the perpetually moving
front line, dashed off
by the general shadows,
without evidence; potential
children yearning towards
the grave never to be
potential parents squandered
as a matter of course in war
–they comb the rubble
for remains of their
countrymen, open portals
of collapsed wood, asbestos,
leaning in for the frozen
face of a relative;
thieves take what they can,
their fresh mouths
agape every revolution,
embracing Western ideals
: if not life, a foundation,
a monument, a temporary
peace in those intervening
decades, belief in the
existence of things
without reason, without;
archaeologists come last,
place a blue flag, a red,
cordon, section the place,
ponder in resolute confusion
of pert intellect why and who,
toast to the peripheral dusk
present discoveries, past
lessons, avoidances–teachers
and academics forge ahead,
arbiters of eternity,
but not truth, not the
accidents we know
a jaw bone in broken
glass exposed
a mouse’s
retreat
in snow
the way
home
for those
interred–
is this
the way
home
for the interred?
David Capps
partwise human arranged
murmurs over the asphodels
the still pushes in
wet earth toward
the perpetually moving
front line, dashed off
by the general shadows,
without evidence; potential
children yearning towards
the grave never to be
potential parents squandered
as a matter of course in war
–they comb the rubble
for remains of their
countrymen, open portals
of collapsed wood, asbestos,
leaning in for the frozen
face of a relative;
thieves take what they can,
their fresh mouths
agape every revolution,
embracing Western ideals
: if not life, a foundation,
a monument, a temporary
peace in those intervening
decades, belief in the
existence of things
without reason, without;
archaeologists come last,
place a blue flag, a red,
cordon, section the place,
ponder in resolute confusion
of pert intellect why and who,
toast to the peripheral dusk
present discoveries, past
lessons, avoidances–teachers
and academics forge ahead,
arbiters of eternity,
but not truth, not the
accidents we know
a jaw bone in broken
glass exposed
a mouse’s
retreat
in snow
the way
home
for those
interred–
is this
the way
home
for the interred?