Our land is free and just, we yell
with raised flags and white faces as
blood leaks over our complicit hands
and we make monsters of boys shot through,
reveling in our blind eyes and dark hearts.
You reminded me, standing there
cupping your wine glass amidst the
hushed conversations about breast cancer,
growing children, and refugees in the world,
to walk outside in slippers with
arms outstretched to the sparkly, dusty snow.
How do you pray in the darkness of a blue
morning when the tree limbs whip and reel,
rain batters the yellowed leaves, and
the world has no room for your
thoughts and whispers and cries?
I thought throwing rocks would make me love you again. But there is too much between, and you could not stand if you knew all the ways I have betrayed you and all the ways I have loved you.