Hiroshima

It is bright and clear in Connecticut today.
A brisk wind sweeps past my bare feet;
I curl my toes into the ground to keep them warm.
Red and yellow leaves mingle with each other
On their trips down from tree tops
And the sun hides, shyly
Behind an off-white cloud.

I do not know what today is like
In Hiroshima.
It may be a picture-perfect autumn day
Or perhaps the crowded, broad downtown lanes
Are a sea of umbrellas, protection against
Cold rain.

Weather aside, I know that
There is almost definitely
Two boys riding their bikes, side
By side, in matching uniform
On their way home from school.
A mid-level company worker
Slurps his Udon, alone, in the
Corner of a small shop
In a lonely alleyway.
Perhaps a skinny junior high student
Receives his first kiss from a
Nervous classmate,
And rushes home to write about it
In his diary.

Is this the same city
That was flat on the ground,
Choking on a cloud of black smoke,
Its name synonymous with destruction
Of a man’s creation?

They told me it was to save lives.
That had the bomb not been dropped,
The Japanese would have lost more lives
In a war with America. That in order for war’s end
Hiroshima sacrificed itself, willingly or not,
For the good of all other cities.

But there is no glory in Hiroshima.
To be destroyed so that others
May be spared.
Like picking a flower from a small garden
And gently laying it to rest
On a memorial for those
Who perished
In the name of peace.