Like Being a Child

It was a bad day
Birds were sick
The river stood on its legs
A wickedness roiled us
Between pages—
A short pause
While goodness reassembles—
That’s what we told ourselves
No wonder children
Looked at us
As if we were cruel to animals
“We’re innocent,” we said,
“We didn’t make this world”
But it was a bad day
Grief was in every detail
We never caught a glimpse
Of God’s hands

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto