My dad was on Okinawa when the atomic bomb hit Hiroshima. He was a young sailor and rarely talked about his being there. I never saw a photo taken there. His wife was waiting in Iowa. His children were future “boomers” after he came home.
In school I read about the war crimes. About concentration camps and scientific experiments. My short essay on “the mushroom cloud” over Hiroshima won a money prize. Life went on for everyone except the ones who died.
hear the winter wind
acid rain falling for days
folds night on the land