A veteran slumped in a midnight
doorway was trained to kill, so killed,
and killing banished sleep.
A hurt child, now thirty-two, who
never had the food he needed, haunted
by his father’s blows, shoots meth.
A mother abused as a girl, can’t
speak of it, shuns touch, can’t trust
any boy her own girl brings home.
A nation, founded by the shot heard
round the world, prevailing at Hiroshima,
can’t understand our daily massacres
as if a gun were not a war in small,
strife undeclared but flaring sudden,
as one thing becomes another.
A life? Kind words and gentle gestures?
Planting seeds and seeking peace?
Where could that lead?
Did this article have an impact on you? Tell us how! Whether you’re moved to take action, have a question, or want to share a comment (good or bad), we value your feedback!
