A/N: Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, b3 – over 500 words poem.


communications

you make such a wide and beautiful flower on the open field and isn't it a cruel flower you chose to bloom?

lilies in bloom upon a puddle of blood and broken crystals and the crystals could have killed so many more but one wasn't in a flesh and blood body to die and another had the lady goddess luck on his side (and it was very lucky he did, or else he'd have died at least a dozen times by now) and a third still was almost your greatest mistake because what would you have done if you saw your only translator off the battlefield?

why a white flower on the battlefield already painted with blood and scattered with shrapnel ash and why a flower at all - why a fragile flower that every breath of wind, every fighter plane or gundam or ship or planet that passes it in space will make it twist and turn until all the threads come undone and the petals come crumbling down?

is this white flower your olive branch...or your memorial?

people died in this clash of misunderstandings. people were hurt. people lost things: other people, other more material things. time rewound and repeated. those who'd stepped off the battlefield were forced onto it again or chose to return, and others chose to stay off and that luxury was still in their hands.

are these words for those of us who don't understand?
is this your sorry, your sorrow in the wake of the tide
you'd brought crashing down upon us: that white metal tide
and this white flower of yours as the anchor, or the white towel
of the aftermath?

did you speak to that glowing bright gundam who touched the minds of all the souls in space that day? did you listen to the years long tale he had to tell, and give your own story in return? did the two of you settle down with a cup of tea in a teacup and a saucer and maybe a slice of strawberry shortcake as well? did you talk about pleasant things like the colour of the sky or your hair or your eyes? did you talk about the heavy things that sit in stomachs like blood and love?

what made you pull away? what made you stop the tide of white metal and broken machines and broken humans and turn it all into a single lily floating upon the puddle?

is this an understanding or a surrender
or a withdrawal?

and how long will that white lily last, floating in space before the heat of passing planets or the wind of passing flyers or the gunpowder of passing future battles tears it apart because surely you know there was a war amidst the humans here that barely ended and it doesn't take much for a fight to break out again - you broke one yourself, broke the tenacious and fragile peace that grips them and it'll shatter just as easily in the future: that glass you've put your precious lily in.

or perhaps it's not precious at all and you just bide your time

but surely not. surely you felt
that heart-felt cry that paused the clash
between the two of you?