Poem by Nicole Gayler

The Flour Massacre

The world closed its eyes the day that flour was airdropped 
Into a broken city. A child’s dusty hands reach out  
To a loaded gun. His stomach already knows the bite of hunger.  
 
When his father died, he could count  
through the shroud: 24 ribs. 118 bodies 
Spilt over flour. If he survives, he will remember the taste 
Of blood every time he breaks bread.  
 
The world turned its back the day that they rolled in on trucks 
With sacks filled with grain. This is the price of aid.

Nicole is an English poet who predominantly explores themes of meaning, atheism and science in her work. She has been published by The Bookends Review, Poetry Undressed, Cats Bite Back, Prospectus and Sunday Mornings at the River.

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