Salmon Poetry

Newtown

15 December, 2012

The sounds we hear,

are the noises we make.

Of doors slamming shut,

Of lights put out,

Of the flesh being torn from us.

Tranquility has no place left to it.

We have lost the notes

of the song that starts the day.

We replace it all

with the expressions of the lost.

More sirens and church bells.

The beckoning to our angels.

The laments to the indifferent clouds.

Can we bear to

see ourselves yet again, in

all that’s been vanished?

Who among us has words

to explain the slaughter

of the babies of strangers?

Who are these people

we claim to not know,

But us?

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