Poems of Hope and Despair
Disaster Drill
After dreaming Arthur Miller’s Broken Glass
Without feelings
And without sounds
We practice
The motions of survival
As if disasters were without
Terror, danger and chaos
As if survival were clean
Without grief, pain and loss.
We follow instructions.
We duck and cover.
We march into the field in hushed columns.
We search and rescue.
At the far end of the field
We hear the sounds of panic and wailing,
The bodies on the ground glisten
With broken glass and fresh blood,
The air fills with fruit flies
Rising from the rubble,
The sky is dark and we
Can’t even comfort one another
:: Design by Waterman
:: Logo woodcut by Barbara Leventhal-Stern
