Just because you were dancing on my grave yesterday, I will not dance on yours today.
Howard Jacobson, The Observer, Israel

The blood has dried,
but not the tears.
How to look into the eyes
of our neighbor
once open. Now clouded
with fear and uncertainty.
Casualties of war.
It could be our homes
in rubble, our loved ones
slung onto a pile of body bags,
our homes blended
into the gray slurry
of debris and devastation.

Choosing sides
not a way to unravel
a tangled knot frayed
with falsities and fables
of battle. Warmongering.
Hate stirred into
Karyotype images difficult
to decipher. Why are war
towns monotone? Distilled
down to debris and desolation?
Inhabitants digging through
remnants of lives once
filled with love and laughter.
Now returned to ashes
bones and the eyes of dolls.

Linda Rocheleau has published poetry in numerous small press magazines, including Chiron Review, Gasconade Review, CONTENTS, Savannah Literary Journal, and others. She recently published a collection of her poems, Heartwood: Poems with Osage Arts Community: Gasconade Press. This is her first time in Panoplyzine. She lives in Asheville North Carolina where she continues to teach and write.