suddenly, a great roaring
coming down on us
hypersonic
Dima sits across from me
I flatten my palms into the table
look at him
I know exactly
what is happening
brace – clench jaw – close eyes
a dull snap
the explosion blasting hot air
twisting metal – glass
smashing past us – on and on –
hot shards cracking
into my left side
Dima has blood
pouring down his face
he is shouting
basement
I have blood too
soaking my purple sweater
blood
in my dry mouth
no taste of iron
I tap my cheekbones –
eye sockets – feeling for the wound
my fingers glide in the
silkiness of blood
*
basement – breathing brick dust
my torch examining
Dima’s injuries
I don’t want to look
but bend him forward
a red gash on the top of his head
no white brain
no shrapnel – relief
relief when soldiers take over
bandage his head
I ask
is my face alright
A waitress gives me a red napkin
guides my hand
to my nose – presses it
into my face and then
we walk out of there
Dima and I
through the blown-up restaurant
over crunching glass
twisted window frames –
dinners still on tables – a plate
of french fries scattered with glass
splattered blood
or is it ketchup on table tops
there are chairs in the road
the sunset just beginning to show –
people come out of their homes bewildered
and stare – I call Mum
tell her we are alive before
she sees the news – our car
is crushed but starts first time
Dima wanders around
he is looking for a way out
before ambulances come
*
in the emergency room
cabinet for walking wounded
Dima waits
for a doctor to stitch
his face – blood running
from his cheek bone
take a photo
Dima says
you wanted to photograph
injured civilians
he doesn’t smile nor do I –
on the floor a pair
of white blood-splattered
Gucci sneakers –
corridor filling with bloodied people
it is night – at the hotel
the girls from reception
are on the front steps shaking
and crying at our faces
Alya offers me pills
for nerves
she’s already taken
*
I don’t cry till morning
reading the death toll –
there are still bodies
under the rubble
when we go back there
to look for my note book –
most of the building is gone – walls
and windows rearranged – concrete
slabs piled at the entrance
there are chairs in the road
there is glass in the dinner
there are bodies under the rubble
*
Iskander missile – 500kg warhead
accuracy five to seven meters
there was a spotter – the SBU catch him
I answer investigators questions
draw maps and talk to a therapist
a shadow darkens over the patio –
sudden roar of a cruise engine –
I close my eyes
the dull snap of impact –
my nervous system is shot I talk fast
forget words lose balance my head hurts
Victoria’s funeral is today
on the other side of her coffin I watch
photographers sway quietly together
in search of their frames
I count five I know
but no one recognises me on this side
without my camera
there was glass in the dinner
there were chairs in the road
the sunset just beginning to show
suddenly, a great roaring
coming down on us
hypersonic
Dima sits across from me
I flatten my palms into the table
look at him
I know exactly
what is happening
brace – clench jaw – close eyes
a dull snap
the explosion blasting hot air
twisting metal – glass
smashing past us – on and on –
hot shards cracking
into my left side
Dima has blood
pouring down his face
he is shouting
basement
I have blood too
soaking my purple sweater
blood
in my dry mouth
no taste of iron
I tap my cheekbones –
eye sockets – feeling for the wound
my fingers glide in the
silkiness of blood
*
basement – breathing brick dust
my torch examining
Dima’s injuries
I don’t want to look
but bend him forward
a red gash on the top of his head
no white brain
no shrapnel – relief
relief when soldiers take over
bandage his head
I ask
is my face alright
A waitress gives me a red napkin
guides my hand
to my nose – presses it
into my face and then we walk out of there
Dima and I
through the blown-up restaurant
over crunching glass
twisted window frames –
dinners still on tables – a plate
of french fries scattered with glass
splattered blood
or is it ketchup on table tops
there are chairs in the road
the sunset just beginning to show –
people come out of their homes bewildered
and stare – I call Mum
tell her we are alive before
she sees the news – our car
is crushed but starts first time
Dima wanders around
he is looking for a way out
before ambulances come
*
in the emergency room
cabinet for walking wounded
Dima waits
for a doctor to stitch
his face – blood running
from his cheek bone
take a photo
Dima says
you wanted to photograph
injured civilians
he doesn’t smile nor do I – on the floor a pair
of white blood-splattered Gucci sneakers –
corridor filling with bloodied people
it is night – at the hotel
the girls from reception
are on the front steps shaking
and crying at our faces
Alya offers me pills
for nerves
she’s already taken
*
I don’t cry till morning
reading the death toll –
there are still bodies
under the rubble
when we go back there
to look for my note book –
most of the building is gone – walls
and windows rearranged – concrete
slabs piled at the entrance
there are chairs in the road
there is glass in the dinner
there are bodies under the rubble
*
Iskander missile – 500kg warhead
accuracy five to seven meters
there was a spotter – the SBU catch him
I answer investigators questions
draw maps and talk to a therapist
a shadow darkens over the patio –
sudden roar of a cruise engine –
I close my eyes
the dull snap of impact –
my nervous system is shot I talk fast
forget words lose balance my head hurts
Victoria’s funeral is today
on the other side of her coffin I watch
photographers sway quietly together
in search of their frames
I count five I know
but no one recognises me on this side
without my camera
there was glass in the dinner
there were chairs in the road
the sunset just beginning to show