Black Rain

That August morning, 1945
I tumble out of bed
Look out the window
Then the sky turns red.
A blinding light, a white light
Roof tiles, falling all around.

I float through the air
Like an astronaut.
The world turns upside down
Day becomes night
Darkness, nothingness
The only sound is the wind.

Then a noise like mosquitoes
A buzzing, a humming.
Only now do I see them –
Ghosts walking up the hill
from Hiroshima below.
Hands held aloft
Skin peeling off
Wet flesh, red flesh
The stench too much to bear.
Smells like squid, cooking.

They draw closer
Drove after drove of living dead.
‘Water, we need water,” they
Beg. So I give them
The dregs from the well.

If the dead can die again
As I quenched their thirsts
They did.

A child as I was then
I thought I’d killed them
But my parents told me
No, girl. The devil had.
He’d laughed so much that day
Tears streamed down his face
And fell as poisoned rain.
My tears long-since dried
Yet still I feel to blame.

Sixty three years on
My guilt remains.
And my penance –
the kimono I was wearing.
Red dragons breathing fire
Its pattern etched upon my skin.
Such is my legacy. Such is humanity’s.