Snow

It was late october when the snowflakes came.
The air had been prickly for a week and the frost
Had mauled our breathes each morning until at last,
The grey clouds crumpled. At first:
A soft, hushing damper fell on the blackened soil,
Pale and delicate as feathers.
Remember the games we played as children,
Hiding under the table, pretending our rain macs were
Thick eskimo coats as we huddled from the goose down blizzard;
How mother scolded us so for ruining her best bolsters.

Now, the snow is darker, mixed with soot and blood.
It falls thicker, a heavy blanket of nothing.
Wind whips through barbed wire
And men, slumped dead or alive, still
Look up in amazement at the serene sky,
And know...
It is slowly killing them.