Written in response to the below image from Sunday Muse #207
Saturday among the rocks we don’t cry we don’t clean just hold our faces gently in the falling in the keening a peeled sky we watch the gramophone turn soaking pallid air with bandages the window is a jagged edge holding us in every day another can opener screeches through the city spilling red
A man listening to a gramophone in what’s left of his bombed-out bedroom in Aleppo, Syria. Photography by Joseph Eid

a rivetting vignette after a bombing; ‘a peeled sky’ and ‘another can opener’ are effectively terrifying; you’ve captured the horror well; and then the calm, stoic dignity of the man listening to his gramophone; well done —
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Thanks so much, John. It’s hard to know whether it’s respectful or not to pretend I can imagine the horror and grief of a situation like that. Am I appropriating a story without really understanding it?
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I don’t think so; I never thought that; you were responding to the images and the bombing horrors captured in news reports; I think the poem is respectful —
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Thanks John. I appreciate that
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Beautifully and sensitively written.
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Thank you Misky.
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Enhances the image beautifully, worms.
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Thanks so much, K
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So sad yet so very lovely.
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❤
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