L. C. Miller
scratch the camera lens
hiss at bare legs
rake through hair whipping
a hot wind.
Death waits, restless searing
scent of dust riddled bones
where the faithful, or just
the resigned, stood gun laden.
Dying into each other, shooting
bodies relaxing, falling, piling
canteens and desert camo—
who they were left imprints and
Now where they were is in her
swinging to see, walking
seeing their echoes through
scratched glass and pixels.
Dawn L. C. Miller holds an MA degree from Washington College,
Chestertown, MD. Her work has been
published in The Bluebird Word, Poetic Hours and by
Hopeworks. Her self-published
collections include Illuminations and Out of the Basement. A resident
of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, she
daily witnesses the effects of human intervention on the forests and marshlands