Dust to Must

Undone monks grapple
torn asphalt.
Cat shriek walls fall
in cement birthday layers
of caked infants,
mothers missing in mirrors,
a teacher's hand
flower pressed to a chalk
board of promise.

Emergency coffees riffle,
winged fingers make eye bridges.
The graves got greedy,
water drowned the bare mountains,
bamboo curtains slapped against
a window to the world.

We have long lost these uncles
of surging rice cups and water.
Shelter is a bag and sticks.
Family is any pulse in a storm.
Our living room is any part of a paycheck
in  relief.

The face of a nation
is held in the heart of a neighbor,
there's no denying two denarii won't do
what's due, but duty
isn't beauty, until it's you.

From dust, to must we
lift from the mud again, orphaned
resurrection from the suction
of martyred mire. 
The swinging Hand in the bucket
brigade is pierced,
its more than necessary now, to know
we're not alone.

Will SchmitComment