Comments about Angela Topping
After The Earthquake
Whether to cry out in answer to
My father’s strangled cries
as he shifts bricks above my head,
or whether to keep silent, holding back
this dust with clamped lips. I lie
sealed in and cannot choose.
If I speak, death will steal my breath
seeping in at the mouth;
if I choose silence he may go away
and weep, and never know how close
my grave or how I longed to answer.
Someone flutes powder from my face.
I feel warm breath. My eyelids move:
Their flutter fills my eyes with grit.
Weight lifts from my chest and arms
and inch by inch I live ...