skin splitting like the margins of a cherry tomato
bare feet taste asphalt running from melted home
every rib bone pronouncing its curve for an escape
fingers drooped like the feathers of a downed crane
       nong qua
white ashes drift down like sand on skin
behind you
while the village chokes on napalm fire
for the front cover of a new yorker’s morning news

*this poem is a contrapuntal and can be read left-right or down the two columns

 
peeled back by sticky flames
stomach crumpling in on itself in fear
arms lifted in wait for flight beg deliverance
and mouth slacks open with the exit of screams
the sky so burnt it charcoals around tongue
white light melting on southern soldiers’ machine guns
the trees light smoke signals for peace
and the photographer freezes this begging