which is not to say either of them makes sense,
which is not to say one might be excused but not the other—
So when the bodies were brought home,
the women sat on the ground, tore their hair,
and wailed in unison—
for they deserved nothing less.
Lock me to sleep, discharge me numb—
Who was burned or hammered, whose flesh was torn from bone?
What has happened, what has been done?
I think of rooms in a gallery where it is raining.
So much water, so much rain that pours and pours
in sheets from the ceiling—
But how terrible that no one ever gets wet.
* ~ from Lucia Perillo’s “The Second Slaughter”