Port quarantined
Corpses burned to
Diminish contagion

Around the table covered
With food and spilled wine
A child clings with worry
Tears on the table cloth
The widow, the daughter
And who behind the lens?

By then
She had already learned
To extinguish herself



  1. This is fascinating and intriguing. This put a nail in my heart. I’d love to know the back-story, if there is one, though it certainly doesn’t need one. It is stand-alone powerful and as so much great poetry does, it asks more questions than it answers.

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