The city dims. God / of infinite sets
Goldfish-shaped balloons tense
at coming fire, the sensor
reels and leaves stutter out the window
of the cell where the translator
peels oranges for the fallen leader.
The city dims. God
of infinite sets, god of the craters not
visible to the naked
eye: nothing prepared me for this.
A man crosses the city,
traveling with his sister to somewhere safe,
at last the roar paling behind them.
But she falls and cannot walk, so he carries her.
He carries her and carries her until he cannot carry her.
Then he puts her down.
He puts her down in the shade.
“War Poem,” a poem by Nomi Stone. ©2017 Nomi Stone. Used by permission. This poem first appeared in The New Republic.