Air sweet like tanghulu,
Wind still like metal rods beaten into the ground.

Large jagged birds circle above,
Their wings glisten in the warm sunlight.

An omen.

Mothers gather fresh water from the little stream flowing through town,
Kids play in their broken shoes and dirtied pants.

Bright pink symphonies surrounds us,
Sprouting cherry blossoms that smell oh so pleasant. 

A crack comes from above,
It breaks the serenity.

The birds don’t look like themselves,
Something is falling.

Like an angel it descends,
So graceful.

It has writing,
All eyes are focused on it.

It reads,
“Little Boy”¹

It falls so fast,
Time is so slow.

But,
But I’m not ready yet…

¹“Little Boy” was the codename for the atomic bomb dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima on 6 August 1945 during World War II.

Corey McQuade is a current student at Penn State University Park who is pursuing his PH.D within the English field. He is originally from Philadelphia and came to Penn State in hopes of becoming an English professor.