poem 32807

June 28, 2007

Dear Jennifer,
I am sitting at home on the night your sister dies,
though I hear in the days after that it was nothing kind,
and very hard to even think about, for any of us,
and because of this, we pray for you)
Complaining about the death of my video games.

I hear a car repeatedly locked,
and I grow angrier.
I hear a car’s shape scrape against the asphalt
at the intersection,
and I grow angrier.
But my temper is nothing compared to what you have
in you, I hope.
I fear for you.

I see the healthy-flesh sky the day after,
and wonder if there might be a fire
behind that smoke screen.
But musing on destruction isn’t polite, I now know.

I hear your news,
and I cry for you.

I mourn your loss, your family’s loss
I am scared of post facto silence in your country home.
I am scared of the empty fields that surround your life.
I am scared of your face in the days after:
what is behind it?

I wish today, for you,
and that things would break;
fall apart.
I wish I could cry the wool back over the eyes of each
now vulnerable child,
heal all wounds,
and rescend the event.
Never let them know the truth of the world.

These people,
my students,
have been unsheathed,
and this world is unsafe for them.
I mourn your sister’s death, your twin.
But more than this, I mourn the unarmoring of each
child’s sight.

It is good that it rains this evening.
Be well.



  1. Hun, you scared the hell out of me with this post. I was like, “Is there something he knows that I don’t?” It is a beautiful poem though and whoever this is about, I am praying for them.

  2. Yeah, I thought about that today. This is not about you. No worries.

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