shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Patty Dickson Pieczka

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The Bus From Aleppo

Bullets shoot a hole into the morning,
and a green bus drives through.

From across the world, I see her face
framed in the window. Her mother missing,

father killed, she touches the hard glass window,
her mouth full of prayers, full of ash. Fear sits

beside her like a ghost. The sky is clouded
with spirits. As the bus turns around and drives back

over crumbles of road, the air is made of knives
and fire. Dark birds flap from a rifle's barrel.