pieces lay scattered
souls shattered
like a Picasso painting all
crooked and wrong and bile
rises in the throat,
a silent scream.
someone
make it stop. where
is the God of Abraham and Isaac
now? can He not hear the weeping
louder now than Ramah? can He not see
the river Dnieper, crimson and gaping
like the wound on your Son’s side.
crosses, sticks tied together, rise
in backyards instead of tulips, and a child
pats the dirt down over his mother
with his hunger-trembling hands.
have you abandoned them?
have you abandoned your people
again?
what
greater good will come
of this?
the whole world is weeping.
and still we try, our begging
celestial whispers disappearing to somewhere beyond
Lord hear our prayers.
