In villages, in fields, on jungle paths
children dig for iron to sell as scrap,
cuddle bomblets,
toy with landmines
on the edge of craters,
dream of riches to feed their families,
and weigh the future in small hands.

In a moment
maimed and broken
they mutate
into ephemeral lilies
that explode and die.

In countries
grown fat from investments in armaments
we donate crutches and prostheses –

      and plant more seeds
      to ensure a constant crop of red lilies..

 

 


 

©  Megan Schaffner 2008

Peter Macrow,
Tasmanian Times Poetry Editor.
Tasmanian poets or those with a Tasmanian link are invited to send up to 5 poems which have not appeared previously in print or electronic media to:
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For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow

Megan Schaffner

Red lilies lie dormant
across rice paddies and hillsides,
bulbs buried near schools and temples
ready to burst into flower.
They need careful handling, these red lilies,
are gross feeders on blood and bone.