The Dead Girl

Just another dead girl.

I remember the cool crisp breeze coming
in sweeping over fields.
I remember the smell of fresh cut grass and
the thick labor of breathing in high humidity.
Then there was autumn. When trees shed
their leaves like the burden’s of man.
The sweet citrus taste of the air.
Then the sweaters came and the cold began
to creep; blankets of snow hid Earth’s hibernating face.
I watched the first wave of planes firebomb my home.
Then, all around me, frantic faces searched for glimmers
of hope in the eyes that showed dead souls.
People were trampled when they ran to the fallout shelters.
I know because I tripped over one,
Her face was still chaste. She laid on
the cool cracked concrete unmoving.
Her eyes glinted with the quakes from the bombs above.
Then I was pulled to my feet by hands connected to a
faceless body. All I could remember
when the blast doors behind me closed
shuddering and shaking was the
in-and-out breath of the Enlisted
as they tossed The Dead Girl
into the corner of the room.