The Day my God Died

You fragment into body and mind.
Maybe you’re not your body,
But something gets taken
When the entrance is unwelcome.

Your mind begins to reorganize
When it realizes that it’s not a bad dream.
The color drains from everything and every place.
The black and blue aren’t just the bruises.

You wonder are they someone’s brother, father, husband?
You know they are somebody’s children.
And remembering that you can grasp
A breath of compassion for the child that
Grew to do this.

To do what they did
To someone’s daughter,
Someone’s sister.

Melissa Mirabai Zeligman