Kharpert, Turkey, 1915
It is hailing in the village
where my grandfather was born.
It is thunderous against the roofs
and stucco walls of the houses.
It is like a rush of huge water
coming from all sides,
like a thousand angry voices
falling against the earth.
If all the windows shattered
who would hear it now?
If the ground trembled
under boot heels and hooves,
who would pay attention
or cry out against it?
This is a fury of stones
falling without regard.
Cup your ears, shield
your eyes if you have to.
By tomorrow, even the hardest fact
will have disappeared like vapor.
Structure
20 lines · 10 stanzas