Arms

My mind bends to the ground

like the wind whipped branches

of a willow

scraping where they will dig

to lay the bones

of little children

who never danced

at a prom in the light

of the moon

Who never laid

in a lover’s arms

under the stars

that claimed

“This is your day”

What evil have they been spared

that could have rivaled

what blew their lives

to pieces

A timeless violence

so horrid

that we look away

like the townspeople of Dachau

even though we smell

their bodies burning

and dust their ashes

from our well-shod feet

Three dozen

little arms

snapped in two

like twigs

of brittle lack

of understanding

I long to wrap my arms

around my grown manchild

and my two little women …

three angels still winging

past the rubble

of so many other lives

Copyright 2012