Friday, April 19, 2013

We Are

For those who may be unsettled by the content, this is a poem regarding the Boston Marathon, so read at your own risk. When I wrote the first half Monday night and the second Tuesday morning I didn't realize we would know the identity of the pustules that set these bombs so quickly.


Show me a death toll,
I will show you the living
running right back in 

regardless of fear.
They dodge shrapnel, they fight smoke.
The living do not

wait, don't hesitate.
Panic, after all, just noise.
They'll think about it

then, not now; now is
cradling children, carrying
wounded out. Boston

is bigger than you.

Now is microphones
shoved in unwilling faces
and willing ones, too;

analysis, no
end to who what where when how
no end to asking

why. For now we ask
in an endless rhythm, Why?
Like your answer could

ever satisfy us.
Now we watch the living, mourn
our loss. Boston is

better than you.

Wave your casualties
as the only hint of a
cause you might kill for.

Hide; your kind always
do. Hide from us, though it won't
last. It never lasts.

It is a wound, true,
but we've been wounded before.
You are not special.

You are tiny men;
you always are, with tiny
dreams. But we are

better than you.

Cry out your death toll
I will name you a failure.
You will always fail.

We are not your kind.
The living turn back, running
to rescue those hurt.

We cradle children,
carry the wounded as far
as our legs will hold.

That first moment of
smoke gave us away, told you
who we are. We are

bigger than you.

From a safe distance
murderers watch a bomb, and
call it victory.

We rush in, this time
no different than the last
or the time before.

Fear is for later,
for then; this is now, and now
they race back in, once

again. The living
defy your death toll, deny
you your moment. The

living turn to face
your bombs head on; uncertain
but needing to help.

You can hide; we'll find
you sooner or later, we
always do. Meanwhile

we help each other.
We grieve for the lost. Still, we
know the truth; that we

will always be

bigger than you.

1 comment:

  1. a very passionate poem. what a sad tragedy to america.
    glad i stumbled across your blog!



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