THE LORD'S PRAYER
I am wearing the beads of my Lord 'round my neck
while the fires are burning around me : the hillsides
are scorched and the shutters afire. Each house along
the line is burning to the ground. Bodies are piled up
like kindle in the mattress; stenching, reeking piles
of flesh too old, it seems, to even burn.
-
They marked each doorway with red before they left :
those with two marks, it was thought, were supposed
to burn twice - as if that exclamation mark of intent
would even tame a distance at this point. I see the dogs,
clawing, now trying to dig up their own old bones.
-
In each of the palms of my hand, I too spout little flames -
wavering, compact issues of fire. They harm no one,
least alone me. I am sainted (I was told) enough to
be untouched by the heat. I smolder all day; my intentions
unknown. Protected somehow by the beads around my
neck, I stagger away, seeking my home.
I am wearing the beads of my Lord 'round my neck
while the fires are burning around me : the hillsides
are scorched and the shutters afire. Each house along
the line is burning to the ground. Bodies are piled up
like kindle in the mattress; stenching, reeking piles
of flesh too old, it seems, to even burn.
-
They marked each doorway with red before they left :
those with two marks, it was thought, were supposed
to burn twice - as if that exclamation mark of intent
would even tame a distance at this point. I see the dogs,
clawing, now trying to dig up their own old bones.
-
In each of the palms of my hand, I too spout little flames -
wavering, compact issues of fire. They harm no one,
least alone me. I am sainted (I was told) enough to
be untouched by the heat. I smolder all day; my intentions
unknown. Protected somehow by the beads around my
neck, I stagger away, seeking my home.
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