Blood, mud, and the swift red buds
My mind is made up of landmine
Each time I kill him—and I have
When my enemy can’t lift his javelin, Hannibal
Blood, mud, and the bruised red fruit
May our spoils keep
Alexandra de Romen, a native New Mexican, was raised on a steady diet of tall tales and superstitions. Her poems can be found in Vine Leaves Literary Journal and Tales of the Talisman. She currently resides near Albuquerque. She says:
Because human conflict is timeless, I wanted to convey the monotonous dread and the unrelenting obsession of one soldier. I imagined every war being fought by men doomed to repeat their perpetual struggle, and I wondered why they’d come back at all. This poem is my answer.