don’t shoot! I have a camera

A home, a deer, a mother,
cannot be differentiated
in an explosion,
a car bomb, a shopfront,
a baby’s body becomes
a fruit bowl, a vase
a smidgen left…left 
a girl weaves necklaces
out of bullets.
In a long list of horrible,
you wouldn’t have guessed
burnt flesh would cut
such wonderful shapes.
Black as pupils,
the perfect crop
curled like it’s trying
to remove its wings.
Shift it right slightly
I need to catch
the smoke trail,
that flag in the foreground.
I need it to stare
longingly back
into the lens.
Our brothers, fathers,
our grandfathers
all looking back at us.
The war, the war
is still happening.