Eight-Fifteen Poem by Joanne Monte


Rating: 4.7

(a.m.) the city
was split by lightning,
stripped down to bone, and tortured,
its flesh lashed by flames…

I was beggared,
wearing the rags of loose skin,
hanging like pockets lined with blood.

I could not see
the earth's incinerator,
its volcanic madness, blinded by hair,
burnt darker than matchsticks
and dusted with soot,

but I could feel
the meltdown in my fingers
like soft beeswax, clasping each other
as though desperate lovers—
lovers in torment,
gnarled in the arms of war.

I had crawled
from among the dying,
the children curled like fetuses
in their mother's wombs, the unborn;

crawled from under the black rain
of suffering, the ill-smell of survival;

a disfigured hope
seen clutching the red-and-white hibiscus
from my mother's kimono
that became part of my flesh.

(Note: 8: 15 a.m., the time on August 6,1945 that the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.)

Deepak Amembal 01 June 2004

heart wrenching....mind numbing......very evocative indeed

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Jimi Doyle 01 June 2004

i voted a ten...whoever voted nine must have been blinded by hair...beautiful poem thank you.

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James B. Earley 21 July 2008

Man's inhumanity to Man!

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Frank Avon 04 October 2014

WOW! I'm speechless.

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Marvin Brato 24 December 2013

Amazing poetry...a revelation of the ugly side of life!

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Heather Wilkins 24 September 2013

excellent poem. a terrible event.

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Wahab Abdul 19 May 2013

a fabulous poem with stunning words.. love it..

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Patricia Grantham 29 April 2013

A wonderful write. The ravages of war is never a good thing. Unfortunately it must happen sometimes to lead to peace. Great work in describing this event. I am most appreciative.

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