The Linnet's Wings The Sorrow - Page 97

The Linnet´s Wings Sanatorium, St Omer after the Armistice Tina Cole Gas light animates our phantom days, black eyes vague as smoke close to the shame of this calm white order where men are stripped and mummified. You tell me that the sun has a dark heart but that darkness is inside you erupting through the broken casement where shells are still falling. I trace the grid of white tiles seeking some pattern I can understand, while bodies are lined up on gravel you are still snagged on the wire of alarm, the raw red and black terror oozing out; time and date irrelevant. The fug of defeat trapped between these crowded wards is like living inside clouded glass where you breathe gas and smoke and I must choke on air so I gather you into my arms the perfect pieta. 97