Transplant List for a New Hope
NaPoWriMo, Day 3. After the Garissa Massacre.
The well we fetch tar from to heal ourselves is drying.
We clean house for visitors from our future- we said
we’d do better to darn, dress our wounds and rise within;
we’d seek to line chaos into reasons, rhyme frisky
circumstance in these crude surgeries where we attempt to
transplant understanding into each other, with those
analgesias that can numb the tiredness of this flight;
we’d skirt lapping tongues of places the road is hungry,
hoarse from placating relentless marches, in fledglings,
of sly decrepitude. But I’ll mend you with hope yet.
Everyone’s one thing in the morn, another at night,
but here beside this millennium of moonlighters,
I’ll be a constant boon. Let me bear you up. Let me.
11.38 pm, April 3, 2015
Today’s poem is a Fourteener, with fourteen syllables per line. I’m still on my current meditation (call it an obsession), on the obduracy of hope, researching ways it can be used as medication for ourselves, and each other. Hope is especially needed in today’s turbulent world when we need reasons to go on, and more pertinent in the light of senseless events, like the massacre in Garissa, Kenya, on Thursday, that claimed at least 147 lives. I extend this hope, whatever comfort it may be, to the survivors, and to the families of the victims.
Image attribution: lee Scott, via Unsplash.