Hiroshima

We, the hordes of visitors in the Museum at Hiroshima. 

know that the faces gazing back at us from the screen, 

were burned beyond recognition

In that terrible moment.  

We see the gnarled remains of a tricycle, the helmet which still held the skull of

A child who seconds before was perhaps laughing with joy,

We see the shadow on the cement stoop where a body had been vaporized,

The shredded clothing that hung from oozing bodies.

Huge panoramas of Hiroshima, a city buzzing with life, before

This terrible moment,

And after, a flat, grey landscape of destruction

Punctuated by the skeletal remains of the Prefecture, a magnificent dome,

Still beautiful in its austerity, its insistence on our attention. 

The gentle patter of the raindrops on our raised umbrellas,

As if tears from heaven were joining the ones 

Streaming down our cheeks.