The Following Day and Days

in the
village this morning

none of the animals are at their usual
pursuits

my cat isn't at the door

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">and I can't hear any birds at
all

 

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nothing does

-only a smell of loss so pungent and
overwhelming,

one can hear it

-only the shivering
impotence that follows a
night spent
throwing our bodies again and again
against
a threat to our lifestyles and children,

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">all of us,

 

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">One by one leave our homes and
wander
back to the scene of our struggle, filthy with soot
and
failure, carrying our ruined egos and
ruptured
plans like invalid pets.

And the day's first sounds, come from the
children,
they laugh, knowing no better, and
poke blackened bits of our
good intentions
with the toes of their shoes while mothers and
fathers watch
mute and blinking, afraid to speak,
entirely
unable to caption our own corner of history-

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style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">too spent to conjure anything as an
offering

in excess of what has already been offered

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style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">consumed and found inadequate.
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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Years from now, the
children, old extraneous dismissed, will tell stories they drag from
their earliest memories, to anyone who will listen, all about how
different life was,

before the fire factory burned down.

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