The First Blow

|On remembering|

Hand clenched

tight into a fist

One swift reach

your hand crosses my seat

. . .

Your fist

My face

A bomb detonates

. . .

Warmth drips down my chin

Red seeps through the clothes I’m in

Head tilted back

Face towards the sky

A cease of flow

from an unexpected surprise

. . .

What I thought

What I did

What I felt

What I said

all lost to time

. . .

To this day

only one memory remains

the metallic warmth of my blood on my face

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