Between Wars

      Incendiary firestorms
before the half-century,
                  left church shells,
                  the organs silent.

Ossuaries of a million bones
                  satisfied the curious,
                        until the fields of flags
                  faded in the summer sun.

In another quarter-century
Through defoliated forests,
                        tank-tracked rice fields
                        and empty villages,

The scream of the monsoon winds
                  could not cover the cries
                        of dying cultures.
                  But who listened?

Now
used arms and fighter planes
                              are carelessly sold
                              half a world away;
cities bulge above the ashes
                              and green shoots
                              cover the mass graves.

                              Peace
                                    —the time
called “permanent pre-hostility”

                                    —the time
                  when we ask
                        Who is the new enemy?

Poppies and rice grass
                  have always made
                        a transient floral
                              spray.