Everywhere I look there is a fog of sand
blowing from the peaks
as they shift. At my feet
individual grains stumble along,
close to the earth (bumping into others, more rigidly fixed
or else (gaining even
the slightest elevation) whip past at the speed-of-wind.
If there is a god,
who tracks each particle
(as I have been told) she must
have an infinite mind indeed.
The plan was for twenty minutes
or, perhaps, half an hour to walk along this shore,
let the surf and spray know that there is one human being
who cares enough to visit on an off-season day.
I discover, however,
that I can barely remain
in one place
without being blown over,
decide walking
would be a bad idea.
Either going
or coming
would have to be
in the wrong direction.
And so, after spending some time in standing contemplation
I return to the spot where sand
gives way to pavement
look back, surprised
to discover no trace
of footprints left earlier,
watch as those just engraved
grow less distinct with each passing moment, decide it would be best to leave now,
Call out the names
of the dead
so that we may
mourn.
Call out the names
of the dead.
Call out the names
of their killers
so that we may
rage
as we mourn. Call out the names of their killers.
Photo by Carl Lawrence Call out the names of those who
march in protest so that we may
give thanks
as we rage
and mourn Call out the names of those who march in protest
Call out the names
"Peace,"
"Justice,"
"Freedom," "Palestine"
so that we may
hope
as we give thanks,
rage,
and mourn. Call out the names "Peace,"
"Justice," "Freedom,"
"Palestine"
And when the time
has come
to call out the
names of all who remain
silent
as we are calling
out these names
let us pray that
yours
will not be among
them.
Click here for link to archive of previous home pages 2008 2009
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