The Donetsk Morgue

<i>(October 2014) </i> Some lie alone on carts, while others who are new, wait stacked up on the floor. For you see: there’s a queue inside the Donetsk morgue. Death masks and private parts here are processed and tagged, cadavers on display, mere torsos, arms and legs, mouths open, nothing to say. They can no longer hear the whistle of big guns, nor feel guilt in the nude. Outside, their blood still runs near where they went for food. A black crow captures a tear in the smart phone of its eyes, and heaven welcomes peace established by the flies, and calls for their release.