‘River of Crumbs’
by Sumudu Samarawickrama


They are eating the photographs


there is no bread

The photographs proliferate


Your excavated back looks suspended

we are looking down on you


And you are caught on the crumbs of buildings

we are standing on that

which stood on you


The space between the crumbled parts

of which you are a part



For your ashen powdered self is

Dimensional and recognisable

I lifted a city off your face


My little ash-boy

My little dust-puppet

Of concrete grey and dusted edifices


Your black eyes are curious


Your toes are lifelike

Your black eyes are liquid


Your cheeks curve like apples

Your black eyes are alive


As we try not to see