The New Poem
It will not resemble the sea.
It will not have dirt on its thick hands.
It will not be part of the weather.
It will not reveal its name.
It will not have dreams you can count on.
It will not be photogenic.
It will not attend our sorrow.
It will not console our children.
It will not be able to help us.
by Charles Wright.
There was a picture here. The bodies of four brothers and sisters dead in a morgue in Gaza. I took it down today, a day later.
I am sorry I put that picture of those dead children in my blog beneath a poem that cannot help them. I am sorry I used them to illustrate a point. They don’t belong to me. And they don’t belong in this space. I hope they are somewhere sacred.
Anyhow, I can still see them.