Black Lightning, by Diana Cole

Fan-tasy dell’autunno, photography by Howard Rotblat-Walker (USA) 2022

Black Lightning

Insects crawl along the road to Kyif, 
tanks on their backs as the world 
watches on TV what seems a fantasy, 
a wargame that can’t be stopped.

It started with static in the air, 
clouds amassed on the border. 
Invasion so often predicted  
that when it did, 
it took a while for us to look up
from the television’s glare — 
an aura of black lightening 
kaleidoscoped everywhere.  
 
From the east, south and north 
the war machine thunders in
while citizens in black fatigue, block 
the roads, lock arms in solidarity. 

It’s another far away war --
on and off with the remote,
scroll the mouse and click:
we post sunflowers and click:
profile a blue and yellow flag.
A stone lodged in our stomachs,
as each day breaks and slides away 
We are 6000 miles from there,
seven hours behind and sleeping. 

as they wake to sirens. Our eyes
closed, hallucinating black lightening, 
the charred skeleton  of trees 
behind ensanguined lids. 
​
Diana Cole

Diana Cole, a Pushcart Prize nominee, has had poems published in numerous journals including Poetry East, Spillway, The Tar River Review, Cider Press Review, The Public’s Radio 89.3, Friends Journal, Verse Daily, Tipton Poetry Journal, The New Verse News and most recently in The Main Street Rag and Crab Creek Review. Her chapbook, Songs by Heart was published in 2018 by Iris Press. She is an editor for The Crosswinds Poetry Journal and a member of Ocean State Poets whose mission is to encourage the reading, writing and sharing of poetry.