Miriam Too

Blame slurs the moon,

stutters the birds,

unties the string of things.

The woman in the square,

rocks at the ready

in the hands of power.

One finger in the wind

writing in the dirt,

“Love you”, neighbor.

The scene plays out,

daughter after daughter,

begging to be believed.

The first stone,

a brick through the window,

a burning cross.

What we lay down

as life, as law,

deflects the Light.

Will SchmitComment