There is no poem here, just my uncle
in the first hours of August 6th, 1945
watching in darkness the Enola Gay gain speed
on runway Able, North Field, Tinian Island.
Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade
on Hiroshima. He said they saw the light
1,500 miles away, a second dawn.
No poem. Talked with the ground crews,
went to mess, played poker
with his tail gunner
and the navigator.
Will meaning come later, if ever?
If he drew to a flush of hearts, he does not remember.
Or if Tokyo Rose played Blue Skies
on the radio.
The Sunday Muse
Like this:
Like Loading...
qbit 
This is an amazement of a poem. Very sobering to think of that flash of light like a second dawn. It is incomprehensible, the things humans do to each other. The supposedly “wild” ones must think we are all mad. (Sort of proving it in Canada these days.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!!
LikeLike
What an evocative poem. Good write!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The axe, Hiroshima, your Uncle the brutal memory seen through the destruction of an axe….this is all brilliant and soul stirring Qbit! We are now waiting for your book of poems to be published!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Carrie!
LikeLike
I imagine that image stays with one for a lifetime, the axe of fire against the sky. Frightening to think about. Grievous and far reaching story of truth.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Those last lines–man. I really admire where you took this, and the axe metaphor for the sky worked perfectly–the relative brevity just provides more force to the swing, and at the end I’m seeing a thousand years of evolution boiling down to the biggest stick and the most murderous heart, while the unaware tribe gets called in to make it happen ‘for the greater good.” Fine writing, qbit.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’ve never known how to write about this piece of family/human history, how any art (or artifice) of mine wouldn’t take away more than it could add. I was surprised it found expression here but am glad for it. Hopefully “less is more.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Grim and immediate.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very clever metaphor qbit.
Thanks for dropping by my blog today
Much love…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I would hate to be carrying this memory, it would haunt me over and over. You told it well, Quebie.
..
LikeLiked by 1 person
I cannot imagine. The ‘realness’ of your poem touched, deeply.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A thought-provoking musing, and a vivid tumble of imagery, Qbit. Beautiful write.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Brilliant and startling, just as the flash from the detonation. This is my favorite:
“Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade”
Still can’t wrap my mind around it either…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. There isn’t really any rational way to process it, or at least I haven’t found one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade
on Hiroshima. He said they saw the light
1,500 miles away, a second dawn.”
Gorgeous writing, q!
LikeLiked by 1 person