Friday, December 14, 2012


My mind bends to the ground
like the wind whipped branches
of a willow
scraping where they will dig
to lay the bones
of little children
who never danced
at a prom in the light
of the moon

Who never laid
in a lover’s arms
under the stars
that claimed
“This is your day”

What evil have they been spared
that could have rivaled
what blew their lives
to pieces

A timeless violence
so horrid
that we look away
like the townspeople of Dachau
even though we smell
their bodies burning
and dust their ashes
from our well-shod feet

Three dozen
little arms
snapped in two
like twigs
of brittle lack
of understanding

I long to wrap my arms
around my grown manchild
and my two little women …
three angels still winging
past the rubble
of so many other lives

Copyright 2012