A year ago <br />the blades hidden beneath our garments <br />burst forth in a martial arts reverie <br />like an out-of-control fire-eating performance. <br />We withered under the white heat of dragon breath, <br />our scorched faces streaked with parallel water lines <br />as we reeled from yakinohara, <br />the Japanese word for <br />nuclear devastation – “burnt plains.” <br /> <br />Now we are stoic mannequins shuffling along <br />eating disappointment pudding. <br />Now we stand apart <br />full of broken love <br />like the statues of angels <br />shattered by the atomic bomb <br />in Nagasaki. <br /> <br />Sometimes after a bicycle accident <br />the front wheel keeps spinning <br />until it stops <br />and then the accident <br />is officially <br />over.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yakinohara-marriage/
