by Pamela J. Jessen
I struggle through sifting ash
hunting remnants of you –
harsh wind a flensing knife against
my cheek.
-
Sirens whoop,
the air reeks of cordite and blood,
jet fuel and scorched flesh . . .
-
I claw at rubble,
hands raw and torn,
until
I am smoke and ash as you have become,
both of us ghosts
glimpsed in fog . . .
About the Author
Pamela J. Jessen is from Colorado and has been writing poetry and short fiction for quite a few years. Her poetry has appeared most recently in Absent Willow Review and Snakeskin Poetry Webzine. Short fiction has appeared in the anthology Women Who Run with the Werewolves, Cemetery Dance, The Horror Show and Twilight Zone Magazine.
©2010 Pamela J. Jessen
