WAR SONNET WITH A SIMILE BORROWED FROM KYLE OKOKE’S “MATTHEW 6:28”
Chest like a trapdoor and me a medic,
parachuting in, leaning over the body shattered
on the rubbled road, I listen to the heart ticking
like unexploded ordnance, hoping to delay the surd
that is death, to deny its nothingness purchase,
me a robber with my pressure bandages, codeine,
and comfort, my eight-week training scarcely
enough to differentiate me from the gawkers who lean
in to get a better view of someone else’s
tragedy. What can I do other than crudely
splint the broken bones, halt the pulse
of blood until the surgeon can do her work? Only
a stopgap, still I throw myself there,
where the line of being and not-being wavers.
—from Poets Respond
November 12, 2023
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Devon Balwit: “The first simile comes from Kyle Okoke’s poem ‘Matthew 6:28’ in this month’s Poetry magazine. It is for all those called to be first responders.” (web)
