Community Voices

Robert WitmerTokyo, Japan “If only we could placate the world’s rage with a drop of poetry or of love . . . .”— Pablo Neruda unemployed youtha roll of the diceagainst a brick wall eyes shut tightthe stone sleepsin a fist light bleedingthrough stained glassthe rubble still warm bomb sitenothing but a staircasebeneath the pale stars war gravesthe silenceof forgetful flags life after deaththe hidden truthmaggots dreams clotthe bloodstream of timefighting for peace summit meetingthe overwhelming presenceof nothingness shouldering responsibilityhe listens carefullyto his parrot cover-upblaming the systemfor the fig leaf absence of doubtthe poisoned chalicewe swallow with a yawn online…

By Robert WitmerTokyo, Japan The Cuban Missile Crisis. I was in grade school and we had drills. The same loud alarm as a fire drill, but a different experience altogether. Instead of walking single file out to the playground, joking around with your friends, we had to sit against a wall in a dark corridor hugging our knees to our hearts. Dead silence was expected. But sometimes we whispered. Kid stuff. spring rainchildren holding umbrellasupside down (First published in Presence, Issue #81, March 2025.)