Poetry by Dana Yost Rainbow Through the window the sun blew into a glass of white wine then refracted into a rainbow upon the skin of lemon-pepper chicken as we talked about Nazi death camps and soldiers killed by sniper fire in Vietnam. A teacher dead in the recent derecho. It was such a peaceful setting for death, wasn’t it? The seven of us around the table and one finally mentioned amnesty for draft-dodgers, and no one went berserk, no one even disagreed. We shook our heads at the insanity of war, at the cruelty of death, and my classmate posted photos on Facebook of herself in hospice, ready to die from cancer. “I’ll be here for the end,” she said from her living room couch, under a blanket. I looked for a rainbow but…
“Man Does Not Live By Words Alone”
