Small Comfort
by Scott Wiggerman

When bombs start falling
like perverse confetti,
when sands explode
in waves of shock and awe
and you search on knees
for the limbs of your children,

that we could no more stop
our leaders
than you could stop yours;
that broken-winged doves
cannot carry an olive branch.

Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.