call for arms | poem

poetry

a song of grief drifts from a radio, at rest
like the mummified, sits on a window ledge.
the sombre note of cry, as though candle smoke
drifts out, towards the immigrant children of tomorrow
sat on blood split asphalt 
that reminds youth of cherry blossoms. 
limbs the colour dust.

face covered mothers carry in their arms
discretionary foods, once barte…