“Condolences On The Passing Of Your confederate Monument”
The Writing Process
Step 1. - Be pissed off
Step 2. Write
Step 3. Submit at 12:30 am
Step 4. Have an acceptance letter by 1 am
And such is the tale of the publication of my (brand) new poem “Condolences On The Passing Of Your confederate Monument,” currently up at The New Verse News.
Finding a little bit of dark humor in the midst of utter business as usual bullshit in this country.
“…and who is my neighbor?”
Jesus replied,
“a man was going down from [insert place of work,
convenience store, home, or church] to [insert place of work,
convenience store, home, or church] unarmed,
and fell into the hands of officers, who stopped him for
[insert _____-ing while Black reason]. they shot him,
stood above his leaking body, and left him for dead.
now, by chance, a white man [Evangelical]
was going down his Twitter feed.
and when he saw him, he scrolled quickly past
saying, #BlueLivesMatter.
likewise, a white woman [Presbyterian]
came to the place on her Facebook feed.
she saw him and scrolled quickly past
saying, #AllLivesMatter.
but when [insert the least expected] saw him,
they came near. moved with pity and outrage,
they went to the dead man’s family
to bandage their wounds, pouring action
and appropriate silence as compassion.
they put the burdens on their backs,
addressed them as they were able.
the next day they had not forgotten,
but took two friends and encouraged them
to more than march or hashtag the moment,
saying, ‘we will continue the Work together.
be not afraid: the Lord will repay
whatever social capital we spend.’”
then Jesus asked,
“which of these three was a neighbor
to the man who fell into unholy hands?”
the [insert an asshole “playing devil’s advocate”] said,
“the one who acknowledged his dignity.”
and Jesus replied,
“now go, and do likewise.”
First published in Poemeleon A Journal of Poetry’s The Truth/y Issue: Volume XI Spring 2020
“aphagia”
Women in Black, by Marianne von Werefkin (Russia) 1910.
the sin eaters have turned their backs on us,
departed for their flaming mountain home
to purge. they’ve retrieved their wooden bowls
and plates. in white sacks gathered the salt and crumbs
of corpse-bread— loaves that sopped our lusts and lies,
the myriad murders our hearts desired— then
retreated from our boarders, forsaking us.
no longer can they stomach what they’ve witnessed
across the great river, beyond the walls we’ve built.
the weakest pitied the glut of guilt denied
when we pass. a shame, she says. a waste.
Originally published as a part of The Ekphrastic Review’s Ekphrastic Writing Challenge.