Wandering in The Pyrenees, April 2016 by Sue Kindon

I am not a silent poet

As Aleppo was bombed
we went in search of early spider orchids.
Our rubble, turf, fragrant with ghosts
of violets. This season’s grass
pushing up, inquisitive, towards the blue,
as a hospital tumbled.

As a hospital tumbled,
our birdsong broken
by the droning of a cargo plane
labouring below the skyline
into the shadow of the next valley.
No need to take cover.

Not here. Not now.

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