The Dead Had Seemed Like A Wall

The dead
Had seemed
Like a wall
Or a border

Or a barrier to cross
To become
A red blooded
Living man or woman

The old man had swung his sword
Whistling through tissue
Bone and cemetery dirt
Just behind the eyelids

S.Murakami fired a gun
She could not look directly at them
But at tree branches
Against the sky instead

The orphan grappled with them
As one would with a bundle of ropes
Or as a baby with the act of being born
Or as a kite that curses the string and loves the wind

One by one the dead lay down
At the feet of the travelers
The silencing of a snake’s rattle
The hush of a grave’s displaced wailing

The sword was put away
The gun was holstered
The orphan’s hands were washed in bottled water
Their weary eyes glimpsed a red fox

In the spiraling delirious green
Of the trees
The fox, like a spot of blood on tree bark
Barked three times, startled

As if to say I am your blood
The beating of your heart
I run under this island
You are living men and women

Part of the “Orphan Ascends In Green” series, a collection of poems about three travelers on an island overrun by zombies.