ManicDDaily

Without Nine Lives

When I think of a child
being killed,
I think of how a child feels
when a cat is run over,
of a chest too small
for its grief, of a small chest tight
with disbelief–

I make no parallel between the deaths
of child and cat, I am talking about how the child
feels,

how he or she wonders what kind of world
could let a cat
be run over,
and whether that cat will go
to heaven and whether some day
(picturing clouds)
he or she will see
the cat there.

Maybe the child will even write a story
about the cat, the way its markings made it look
like a pirate, and how its fur could sometimes give off a spark aside
the softness, its slide
about everyone’s pants’ legs, and
the pink black white brown yellow
of its impossible
nose–

Only when the child reads aloud
the story, the page rumpled in the way of a sea seen
from a cloud,
the part about the cat being run over
will crowd
his or her throat, though
the words are short words, words that fit into
a small palm, and he or she will hand
the rifled page to us, we who already know
what kind of world, saying,
you read. 

*********************************

Draftish poem written for no reason other than that I have been thinking a lot about gun issues since Obama’s announcement of his executive orders (basically an effort to enforce existing laws.)  I will probably link to Real Toads Open Platform.