Before a shrine

Before a shrine: a painting and a party
A Hyde Park couple is throwing a party.  The bar is set out on a drafting table beneath a painting of a bombing, as before a shrine.

The bomb has just fallen, on an archaeological site, somewhere in the Middle East, right in the middle of a dig season.  The bomb-blast flowers. The blow-back rocks a truck on its wheels, the explosion radiating death, injury, debris.  Ruin upon ruin: the trauma of war visits an ancient city, perhaps a sacred temple or a domicile, destroying the peaceful pursuits of the present, along with the integrity of the past itself.  The projectile whistles, leaving a trail.

The painting, the party: Both are vestiges of an important something now gone, reminders of a peace and wholeness lost.  A loved one, once present and all-enlivening, is remembered in an off-hand remark or two.  A clink of glass, an off-stage laugh; we party on.

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