A Poem for the Children of Sandy
Hook Elementary School
Next time you shave
or put on lipstick, look beneath
that deepening mirror:
the wailing
of mothers half a world away
beneath the cries of this mother, bereaved,
the anguish of ragged children
beneath the smiling face
of Emilie
who lies dead, slumped
over friends
in this little town, where the world
would live.
She was
to be
an artist, drawing
lives.
Artists. Teachers. Future worlds,
Unworlded.
And all that remains is words,
Pictures of the dead.
Drawn by children.
Their cries do not reach
the throne of God but are stuck in their throats.
Next time you trim your eyebrows
or apply your eye shadow, look deep into
your mirrors to find
not “evil” or God but selves into whom we've slid
-- undisciplined
(screwed-up) kid,
Gun-loving (screwed-up) mum --
Who let this happen every single day
both here and half a world away;
Who
pretend this disease is freedom.
No comments:
Post a Comment