Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 17

how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks,

months, years ago did the world on a Tuesday

morning bleed? how many remember the night before

everything changed by showing us what loathed

human flesh can become? Will the multiplying death

piled on many mountains now of splintered bones ever

bring us peace? we are up early with our grief talking

of these things in a world distorted by crooked views

of God and the innocent who were killed. today, we

will go to the places where hell appeared with black

flowers to hear prayers calling for blessings and the

fullness of peace, then with choking faith in heaven

will silently shake our heads. the day it happened,

still covered in ash, makes the light grow thin for

us—the ears torn off still listen.