Ghosts of bomb-light spiral their fingers towards
The early-morning recesses, fading
In the space of dawn like words
Silenced by the closing of a book.

War is a broken devotion.
Countries pull from each other like old lovers,
Scatter like bread crumbs thrown to the birds.

War makes us all hungry.

Geography becomes a foreign word as countries
Shed their names like new brides.
Countries swim through the ill-fitting skin shed
From each regime.

December, 1998, the television tracked bombs
Aching along Baghdad, only a green square on
Our globe, a tear shed between pages of the atlas,
Scattered debris covering the countryside
Like bits of a ripped map that nobody bothered
To piece back together.

Suzanne Burns Her first book of poems is scheduled to appear from Archer Press of Santa Monica, California next spring. She is currently working on a short story collection, The Dream Tree, and a second book of poems. The second poetry book, The Fairy Tale Sestinas, is a collection of fairy tales and nursery rhymes re-told with a less subservient, more feminist slant. She is also the Associate Editor of Dynamic Patterns literary zine, which is currently accepting poetry submissions. The address: www.dynamicpatterns.com.