The following poem was published in Night-Blooming Cereus and other poems and The Glens Falls Post-Star
Three Thousand Times
As morning unfurled
in noxious plumes,
acrid wings enshrouding
the throbbing city,
we could have sworn
a single heart stopped beating.
Surely wakefulness is near
we say as we piddle, replay,
wail, twitter, fume, turn away,
then yearn to understand
how those who had smiled
and worked and prayed beside us
had both cloaked and stoked
the flames of rage.
Now our view of Liberty
stands unobstructed, our idols
crumbled into the white soot we wear
of others’ bodies—no, our own—
one heart stopped three thousand times.
morning unfurls again in rose and blue.
Come to the table and say a prayer.
The bread is warm. Eat it. Share it.
There is plenty. If it sits too long
it grows crusty. Then the children
pick it up in hunger but
it crumbles before they can eat it,
crumbs cascading to the floor.
Their toys and books seem
haunting now, their solutions
simple—glue and time.
a billion times three thousand equals one.