If They Come

They’ve come before
Different times, different places
Always leaving behind traces
Of inhumanity.

Some remember,
State the parallels,
Recite the historical,
Are laughed at as the hysterical.

The majority, who will say–
They come not in his name
For they wear not the robes of the arcane,
Burning crosses straight and twisted.

Some forget,
Leaving voices unraised.
Some simply care not,
Since they come not for them.

Darkness imprisoned for years
Revels and romps now freed from sanctions,
Freed from society’s guilty tears.

If they should come
For the disabled ones
To mock and who knows what more,
To be neutered and spayed
Corralled into stalls

To swallow pills and stare
At mint green cinder block walls?
All to hide such shame
From society’s eyes
The words home and school provide
A little comfort and the lies.
I will raise my voice, “What you do to them do to me too.
For how can I be perfectly abled in your mind?”

If they should come
For the immigrant ones
To part them from jobs no one else will do
With shouts of “Build a wall. Build a wall.”
I will raise my voice, “Build it around me as well.
For I, too, believed the words inscribed upon Liberty,
Believed this was the place
Of a better life, of dreams made true.”

If they should come
For the Muslim ones,
Planning to throw mud in the face of Geneva,
With their unproven facts and shouts of “Terrorist. Jihadist.”
I will raise my voice, “Take me with them too.
For I also pray to the God of Abraham.”

If they should come again
For the darker ones,
With ropes and whips and epithets from the past,
Shouting, “White Power, White Power.”
I will raise my voice, “Bring enough to kill me too.
For I have the same red blood as my siblings you seek to kill.”

If they should come again
For the transgender and queer ones,
With fists and broken bottles and shouts of “Freak.”
I will raise my voice, “Beat me as well.
For I am sure to upset you by the bathroom I plan to use.”

If they should come for the gay ones,
the bisexual, my lesbian sisters and me,
With researched plans of electric shock to convert
All therapeutic to change, of course,
Or with hands dripping violence and shouts
Of every demeaning word we ever heard.
I will raise my voice, “Beat me. Take my rights
so recently given, though long denied.
Never will I lose my dignity again in silence.
For I hid among shadows much too long.
Now, I, too, live in the sun,
Proud of who I love, and I will not go away.
I remember we are neighbors,
Each of us, brothers and sisters
In God’s eyes.

Will you realize when you came for one,
You came for us all?
All you deem different,
Dangerous to your thinking,
We make you uncomfortable.
But we give you something,
Someone to blame.

But after you have come for us all,
Bound and bloodied us as best you can,
Taught your school children the different are to blame,
Worthy of nothing but your hate,
Our resistance,
Without striking, without killing,
No sling shot will we need
To make your injustice
Crystalline for all the world to see.

When the day of God’s light
Does come once again
Perhaps you will look
Beyond skin
Beyond abilities and disabilities
Beyond roads to God and ways of worship
Beyond gender and orientations
Beyond your own fears and needs
The human heart is born
With weakness in hate and greed
With strength in justice and love
All in equal portions.

What will matter most,
When each heart lies dissected,
Splayed open, bare,
Before its maker,
Is which portion we allowed to atrophy and die.
And which we sought to exercise,
Strengthen and increase in size.

observation

petals of an orange lily

wilted, browned by a summer sun

in an airless blue sky

where white clouds

stretch tight, thinning

in naked vulnerability

Words Fail

 

Feast on a meal of bitter herbs
As you sit in the old rocking chair
Witnessing eyes like your own
Staring at you with murderous hate
You cannot sit where once you rocked warm softness

You stand, pace a bit, perch on a stool
And think of all those years ago,
Had you known, had you known–
Smeared the lamb’s blood on the lintel
And waited in prayer
For the cloud of contagion to pass

Faith becomes a sour cup
From which to drink,
And the writer’s ink dries to dust
Upon the page,
Swept away
By the winds of age.

Purged

 

all the words have been emptied out
scrubbed cleaned
some were trash and tossed
into a bin
walked to the curb
to be hauled away

and of those cleaned
no sparkling diamonds
no lustrous pearls
just words
of dulled cut glass
nothing to catch the eye
inspiring a heart or soul
to take flight
nothing to hit the gut
twisting in recognition
of human frailty
nothing to batter against the lid
of a mind or soul locked away
freeing it finally from a prison
so it is best perhaps
to end at the recycle bin
and then to rest after such cleaning

Cleaning

To clean a heart and soul,
the way we clean a house:
scrub away
the grime and grease,
bleach away
the mold and mildew,
polish away
the dusty dullness,
vacuum away
dirt and dust
and leaves and grass
tracked in on muddy
dog paws,
who then shake wet fur
all over the floor,
yes, even vacuum away
all the hair shed upon the floor
by dogs and you,
then mop away
dried dirt,
straightening and organizing
as you go.

Then rest,
enjoying the gleam and shine
before opening the door
to visitors once more.
Yes, if only a soul
Could be cleaned
So very easily.

small

small talents
rejoice, at times,
in flames,
in the whirling noise of shredders,
and deadly quick deletes
to erase
all

Joy (for my daughter)

Joys in the morning
Coffee and a cigarette
Then a run
Under the blistering
Texas sun
Simple things
Coffee, cigarettes, a run

Yet another year looms
And older I become
A year stretched out
Like a blanket
Of meaningless days
Thoughts of what will be
When my blanket of days
Is folded and finally
Put away

To rest
Content
Having found
Some thread of meaning
Unraveling from all the threads
In this blanket of days
To pull the thread,
Letting the others fall away,
Hold it close,
And say,
“This was enough.
Yes, this was, indeed,
Enough.”

Truth

What truth is there but this?
Contained within the sand, wind,
An inky blue sapphire sea
Watching whales and seals play
As they sing their songs of joy
I listen
Their language so foreign to me
A vocabulary of rejoicing
In all that God has made
I can neither interpret nor define
Within this human construct
That it seems God forgot
Yet I seek to know
What they say
Of love
Of grief
Of play
Of joy

Saw Dust

Excuse me, please
While I sweep these words
From the floor like the saw dust they are
And toss them to the wind
To scatter in their ineffectiveness.

For nothing can be made
From such dust as this
No table, no chair
No house,
No tower, no bridge

They have no substance
To support any weight
Let them drift on the winds,
Return to earth as if sifted through,
Inconsequential as they are
Hidden in some tall, overgrown weeds
Somewhere out of sight
To rot in some organic way
Providing nutrients for soil.