poli263project

[poli263project]

II: Fire

“Pika!” A strong blue-white flash. The explosion, the pressure, the firestorm—never on earth or in heaven had humankind experienced such a blast. Flames burst out in the next instant and leapt skyward. Breaking the stillness over the boundless ruins, the fire roared. Some lay unconscious, pinned by fallen beams. Others, regaining their senses, tried to free themselves, only to be enveloped by the crimson blaze. Glass shards pierced bellies, arms were twisted, legs buckled, people fell and were burned alive. Hugging her child, a woman fought to free herself from beneath a fallen post. “Hurry! Hurry!” someone shouted. “It’s too late.” “Then hand us the child.” “No, you run. I will die with my child. She would only be left to wander the streets.” The woman pushed away the helping hands and was consumed by flames.

Maruki Iri and Maruki Toshi, Hiroshima Panels, 1950 Sumi ink, pigment, glue, charcoal or conté on paper

[poli263project]

I: Ghosts

Maruki Iri and Maruki Toshi, Hiroshima Panels, 1950 Sumi ink, charcoal or conté on paper

It was a procession of ghosts. Clothes burned in an instant. Hands, faces, breasts swelled; purple blisters soon burst and skin hung like rags. A procession of ghosts, with their hands held before them. Dragging their torn skin, they fell exhausted, piling onto one another, groaning, and dying. At the center of the blast, the temperature reached six thousand degrees. A human shadow was etched on stone steps. Did that person’s body vaporize? Was it blown away? No one remains to tell us what it was like near the hypocenter. There was no way to distinguish one charred, blistered face from another. Voices became parched and hoarse. Friends would say their names, but still not recognize each other. One lone baby slept innocently, with beautiful skin. Perhaps it survived, sheltered by its mother’s breast. We hope that at least this one child will awaken to live on.