June 5, 2013

Luisa Muradyan

Records of the Failed Weapons of World War Two

I have trained these dogs to run
after tanks like children
chasing ice cream trucks.
This bitch ran faster than the others,
she knew how fear smelled in the damp
spring. I watched her paws on fire,
I wrote Dear God in the record books.

Or consider the World War
Two scientist playing with his toys
 in the bathtub, dreaming
of aircraft carriers made of ice
and sawdust. I dream
of airplanes sawed out of ice blocks,
melting like Iccarus
in the dandelion sun.

I imagine the god of wind tickled
at the sight of the wind cannon
shooting breath at unsuspecting pigeons
and weeping when he saw the invisible
man of air killed as a causality,
surrounded in a pool of oxygen,
oxygen everywhere.

This city is made of paper, fold enough
sheets to build a house, fly a paper airplane
to Osaka. This bat is strong enough to carry
her child in flight, here is a bomb. Here is a city
here is a fire, here is a mother burning her wings
here is a bomb where she once felt the weight
of wrinkled body. Here a baseball hold it in your
palm and watch the origami forest disappear


Luisa Muradyan,  originally from the Ukraine, is an English instructor at Kansas State University. Her work has appeared in Ninth Letter, Anderbo, A-Minor, Neon and other fine places.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

That's amazing. The visions inspired by your words are truly stunning and the ease with which the words flow from line to line makes the whole piece carry a surreal feeling of loss.