how the mighty have fallen: part two

here's a thing i wrestle with understanding: my disposition is typically so full of joy and yet the words i pen lay their head in the dark crevices of life. it feels duplicitous, yet when i sit down to write, it's what comes out of my mouth. today, i described feeling like a little child hobbling along a war-ravaged sarajevo in my air splint, smiling and laughing as bombs go off on either side. thank God for the silence of this past weekend.

last wednesday, i received an email from the faculty of my school letting us know each and every one of them resigned. i laughed at the audacity of such a gesture, but thought that it was mere negotiation tactics 101, taking it to the next level. disgruntled as they were with the administration, i thought things could be amended. today, after a second letter, sent from a different faculty person, i am not so sure.

here's the thing i wrestle with tonight: God's handprint was so larger than life on this, how is it that it all might fall apart? i saw my future writing career being nurtured at this school, among this faculty and now it appears to be in shambles.

deep down, like deep magic, it still feels a bit of the farce, like somehow peace can come of all of this. anytime a war begins between two bodies of people with separate ideas and the passionate might to stand behind them, it can seem as though peace dwells far away in a land beyond reach. i'm breaking my rule again, about not posting poetry online on my blog because after work tonight. it will give me ease at sharing what came out of me as the culmination of the endless emails going back and forth between administration and students came to a head. if you pray, please pray for reconciliation. i still want to be a part of this school and study under these crazy, impassioned poets and the glimmer of hope abides within me. a glimmer, but a beacon nonetheless.



bursting at the soil

debris filters down from heaven, all dusty
snowflakes and ash, down onto the grimy
ground littered with war paraphernalia
painted in bold black letters, statements shouting
from an originally slender white sheet,
its quiet silenced with the noise of anger
words thick and portent.

we think, or try to remember before the carnage
of today, this road a week ago, all glistening
green boughs swinging down their joyous melody,
the cheery yellow faces of the daisies raised
toward the sun, drinking in its elixir, warmed into
spreading their slender white petals up and out,
an offering.

footsteps have tramped through the once
lush leaves of grass, flattening them with grief
and a tomorrow that looks as grim as the battle cry
resuming from the barracks, the artillery reloaded,
as roots still hidden look to push through and puncture
the saddened land anticipating the cool veil of rain’s

revenge, gentle as a whisper, more virulent than cancer,
displacing the soot and sorrow with its steady hand,
each drop pelting back a forceful response,
eating holes into the bold black letters, paper ripping,
weakening under the pressure of the earth’s gladness.