by Robinson Terry
Before:
Bright white roofs greet the camera.
Square irises shaped like a city,
orderly rows of houses,
neat columns of streets, and
thin shadows that hug the edges of so many homes.
Green trees scattered about
in no particular pattern—
though there are parks
just as surely as there are people—
even if the picture can’t catch or corroborate their existence,
they exist.
After:
leveled earth
devoid of shape and structure
every building reduced to a basement
every basement staring up
at a sky that will never reach down far enough
to grant them light
fat shadows like a smattering of so much blood
no design to the destruction
label it hazardous and call it a target
to justify wiping it from the surface:
a target has no depth
a target is always flat
a target only exists on a screen
no—human beings were not the targets—
a target can only be a building
not who built the building
they are not on the screen
they are not seen—
never were
Bright white roofs greet the camera.
Square irises shaped like a city,
orderly rows of houses,
neat columns of streets, and
thin shadows that hug the edges of so many homes.
Green trees scattered about
in no particular pattern—
though there are parks
just as surely as there are people—
even if the picture can’t catch or corroborate their existence,
they exist.
After:
leveled earth
devoid of shape and structure
every building reduced to a basement
every basement staring up
at a sky that will never reach down far enough
to grant them light
fat shadows like a smattering of so much blood
no design to the destruction
label it hazardous and call it a target
to justify wiping it from the surface:
a target has no depth
a target is always flat
a target only exists on a screen
no—human beings were not the targets—
a target can only be a building
not who built the building
they are not on the screen
they are not seen—
never were
Robinson Terry is an English teacher living in Syracuse, NY. He has previously been published in Better Than Starbucks and The Broadkill Review.
