Hiroshima Flash Burns

There's probably a knowledge

In old hira-nui embroidery

Of how tendrils once were,

Before the surety of growth

Was overtaken by darkness.

The leaves, sewn into fabric,

Would have been more beloved,

More proclaimed.

Look, the thermal burns

On her back,

Are residues of kimono pattern,

Snap-shot by the blast,

The cloth fallen away.

You can't out-run the sun,

Not even a gram of it.

Laura Stickney 2019

Notes:

photo by G. Kimura of S. Ushio, 

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum