For the children of the Newtown Massacre
In darkness this dense,
light never finds an escape.
There is no sense or comprehension:
it is Absolute Zero of the soul.
There is no bullet more devastating
than the horror that steals
your child.
The girl who wanted
to be an angel for Christmas
has taken the stage in heaven’s pageant
before her baby teeth fell.
His wide smile just learned to
sound out words, those small feet
lived for dancing.
These tiny starfish hands
just felt the baby kick
right there in mommy’s tummy!
Where was God
among death’s obscene debris?
I want to believe but God
remains silent.
Our children are bleeding
rivers of roses
for your gun rights.
They were flower buds
now resting in the arms of the saints.
Mr. Rogers, are you welcoming
20 new neighbors?
He smiles, holy and deep, then
hangs his red cardigan
by the gate, greeting each child
wearing the blood of
another.
"It’s a beautiful day in the
neighborhood, little lambs.
Won't you be my neighbor?"
Meanwhile, back home
the time and temperature
are stuck at Absolute Zero, BANG!
again, again.
J. Pratt-Walter, (c) 2019