Category: Poetry and Other Writing

there are many holes
too wide and deep
to be filled by eyes they
are stepped
around
gingerly of
heels placed
with
pains
taking
care a
blind dance
of
fissured
eyes
averted of
shaking hands
circumscribing the void
piecemeal 
at
this pit of
botched
communique
silent static
and dead children
no one
looks up
while
lead keeps 
falling
from
the 
sky.

Some tragedies are beyond my scope of empa­thy. Some ratio­nales exceed my capac­i­ty to set aside love. If I can’t write about I try to write around, to show the shape of what I can’t describe. This poem could apply to any gun mas­sacre, but today it is for New­town, CT.