One of my favorites from this year’s columbia poetry review.
The Widow of Baghdad
by E. Ethelbert Miller
After another funeral
the widow removes her black dress
and turns it over to darknesswhere
it hangs itself in the corner of the room.
Turning to look into her mirror
She discovers a lump in her breast—
A bomb resting in her handsIn Baghdad even soft things explode.
A husband’s smile sleeps on a sidewalk
glass glittering instead of teeth.