A Glimpse of Starlight

{ to the victims of the Orlando shooting; to their families, friends, neighbors; to everyone everywhere reeling in sorrow and shock: } 

 

i turn on the news

in the morning, when the sun’s shining

and the words on the screen

hammer my heart

and the sun’s no longer shining

 

(don’t they realize how many lives they stab,

how it’s not just the victims

but the families

and the friends

and the surrounding citizens

and the strangers like me

who stare at a screen

and are brought to their knees?

or do they realize all that

and still do it?)

 

i turn to a blank page

at noon, when the sun’s high

and the weakness of my words

leaves me weeping

and now only anger is high

 

(because what do you say

in the face of this pain, of this rage,

of this senseless, pointless, meaningless—

i hate meaningless things—

of this tearing away of forty-nine souls?

God, why?

and what can i say, what can i possibly say,

that won’t hurt, that will heal?)

 

i read a book

a week ago, when the breeze was dancing

and it said listen to silence,

silence can speak; it’s a song

and the breeze continued dancing

 

(’cause how do you pray

when you’ve shed the illusion of

a blue-green orb spinning in serenity,

when you open your eyes to the

black cords strangling it?

how do you pray

when logic screams:

how could a good God let this happen?

how do you pray when you want to rage,

when the words lie dead on the page,

when all beauty’s locked in a cage?)

 

i pedal to work

in the afternoon, with the shadows shading

and a whisper of breeze

caresses my cheek

and the shadows refresh with their shading

 

(but:

why didn’t i die?

why didn’t more people die?

why did You give us

the sun and the breeze,

sonnets and songs,

another breath, another breath, another breath?

i am breathing

billions more are still breathing

i’m not allowed to ask why

i have no right)

 

i sit on my bed

on this day, when love wars with hate,

and the words i can’t find

drift off into silence

this is my warring with hate

 

(my war: to tell You i can’t pray,

to hear You in the silence—

You weeping

He is weeping, He is weeping

my war: to fumble at a poem

and rest in the mess because

i have created something,

made new life when lives have been taken away,

this is my tribute to you

i’m weeping with you

this is my war:

creation in the face of death

prayer in the face of hate)

 

when Love joins the fray,

hate can’t last another day

i am fighting for you