The Day It Rained People

The day it rained people, Irina Tipunova heard a howling noise. Everything rattled, A woman, landed in her kitchen Rain has no memories when it hits the ground Beauty, embroidered sheets, a Chopin concert All erased. A spilt second of panic Searing through flesh then nothing. There is no alphabet to describe that terrible downpour: Three babies Fresh cut flowers Bodies of holiday makers Four pet dogs Diplomats' papers Doctors, stopped in their tracks A child's pink slippers Newlyweds A bicycle (undamaged!) All harvested by looters Shooters, meanwhile, deny responsibility White flags mark the fallen in bright cornfields Surrendered remains, steam in the heat of corruption An infant lies by a sunflower, never to wake Again to suckle the milk from the pap of its ghostly mother From football to oblivion, A boy lies, fouled, in a foreign field All, all, like acorn cups spilled from the tree of the world The callous clouds neglected to uphold. Meanwhile, like carrion crows The needy living strip the needless dead