Monthly Archives: June 2017

Martyrs

When the Facebook bell starts ringing

To tell of more lives taken

By men with names that are not like ours

You always say the same thing.

You say it every time,

 

That they are monsters and

Inhuman and cannot

Be comprehended

For they are not like us

No brother, not at all.

 

But I say, brother, you’re a liar

And maybe sister, you forgot

The things we used to say in high school

The songs we sang when we were young.

A little too in love with easeful death.

 

And I say how fortunate were we

And the heretics we hated

And the infidels we feared

And I say thank Christ He made it clear

Which end of the gun we are to stand on.


Palliative Care

Dying is a cold white room

Where we sit and wait,

Undisturbed by life,

While every voice falls silent

And every movement becomes still.

 

I leave the room because I can,

And the person lying there.

To walk down the fluorescent hall,

Open the door I am allowed

And find that it is June outside.

 

The evening there is soft and warm

The air pregnant with thunderstorms,

Alive with the voices of spring,

The peepers and red-winged blackbirds,

And the scent of the lilac trees.

 

I return to the cold white room

And find the room is empty now.

But if there’s one thing that I know

It’s that wherever you have gone

It’s on the June-side of the door.