Night has shrunk to the dark

Night has shrunk to the dark
iridescence in a butterfly’s wing,

and the newly dead lie in their coffins,
sleeping. Is it right to disturb

the peace that is to their demise
attributed, by bringing to mind

all that they were not when they lived?
On most things we are taught to hold

our tongues and to keep counsel;
for who are we to think that others

in the world have not had terrible
things done to them? And I can say

when I received news of a certain
death, I no longer felt anything.

No flicker of anger, not sorrow
nor pity nor love. I was only

a child those many years ago,
when the first seed of my innocence

was taken. But not my wonder,
which must have curled into itself,

into a ball— Like the small
dark body that folds its wings

and lies for days, unmoving,
in the shadow of the porch.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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