Trying to breathe in five tanka and five haiku

In your desire to

know God, is it not enough

that nature doesn’t

recoil when you attend it?

Love this nature in yourself.

Dense red blood and fire

overwhelms cherry blossoms

this tragic springtime.

Rushing to blossom

dogwood, lilac, azalea

and wisteria

overtake pinks and crimsons

with purple and blue bruises.

Rainbows of songbirds

arch over parking lot beds

of fallen petals.

A blessing of hands

searches for survivors and

pulls them from cellars

and the depths of hell before

liberating body parts.

Apartment building

walls drop down when the bombs hit.

Skeletons remain.

Bright coats for grade school

give invaders clear targets

along escape routes,

join with delicate petals

and stubborn red bricks.

My heart breaks. Egg shells

crack open, and I scramble

breakfast. I can’t eat.

Forgive my distance

an accident of fortune.

Momentarily

safe, as if watching neighbors

burn from a high balcony.

I live in prayer.

Seeing you, I won’t recoil

but pick up my pen.

For April, poetry month, writing daily.  Russia still invades and destroys Ukraine.  Posted at earthweal open link weekend #113

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2022 Susan L. Chast