By Seana Sperling
Amidst the attacks, I sit.
A glaring absence in the space between,
Multiple missives of abnormality.
Just the facts Ma’am. Just the facts.
Piecing together all those broken images,
Of broken lives and broken stories,
And I sit.
The first news reports came in sound bytes,
While bits of flesh and bone,
Were splintered by bombs and assault rifles.
Sorrow on the page, on the photo,
On the black letters that filled out the stories.
And I sat and read and watched.
Here I sit,
Seeing the beauty of flaming deciduous,
Cozying up to verdant conifers.
Robins, woodpeckers and wrens grace the branches.
Vigilant cats patrol the balcony,
Where I sit.
How, amid such beauty, can the human being,
Be, so ugly?
How can destruction, war, bias, prejudice,
Be such a large part of our lexicon,
And even the vernacular?
Is it because I just sit here?