Three Hours Before The War

Karem Barratt/Singing Heart

Singing Heart

@Karem Barratt

Venezuela soldier aiming at civilians

Cinnamon dreams fly from porridge bowls,

In the cool, early morning light.

To the music of a xylophone, the radio

Announcer chants the bargains of the day.

Humming, she goes about, in the warm

Embrace of the kitchen I don’t want to leave.

But the bus is coming, driving slowly

Over shaded lanes, the sun spinning

Delicate laces through the canopy

Of the acacia trees, birds singing sins

(My father used to say), choiring with

Crickets and tea pots, while iron pans

Fry merry dawns out of humble eggs.

The bus honks, and she calls my name,

Her eyes bright with dreams

That will not come to pass.

But she believes, and I believe with her,

Because last night I saw a man

Walking on the moon, weaved in

A tapestry of grey blinking stars

That sounded, at times, like the sea in a shell

-But the bus…

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