Thursday, March 5, 2015

The Crisis to Which We Now Refer


It’s just that
coming home around six a.m.
I knew this place was Rome
four days after the sacking

I imagined the rescue of the children
hustled out of a crashing courtyard
in an old, blue Ford
Your crossword puzzles were everywhere

Like a bomb-shocked ancient citizen
returned to an unsettled wreckage
I stooped to finger what remained
kicking away impediments to see beneath

I bruise myself in recognition
of what’s been lost. I long
for familiar charged things
but am relieved at the devastation

Split, I lean and tremble
on what once was a kitchen table
I rake fear over my chest
I embrace myself 


I will not let go