Feb 5, 2014
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The mother’s song is
the sound of the boot
compressing the snow
the sound of the bayonet
stabbing a bale of hay
the sound of a gunshot
behind the barn
the sound of a spade
edging into dry earth
the sound of a prayer
muttered by the doomed
penitent hiding behind
a curtain his mouth
taped shut his thumbs
cut off and a hole in
his throat through which
a thrush reaches out
a worm in its beak
blind and twisted
as an ampersand
a child practiced
over and over
in a black book
as punishment for
daring to imagine
the mother’s song
that’s written on torn
white wings from
the other side
of understanding
where everything
has a way of breathing
and everything
is as wondrous as
waking up in rags
on a forest floor
realizing that no one
survived not even
those who live.
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February 05, 2014
