February 8, 2012

CATASTROPHE

 …here, the dense-smoke of the land went up like the smoke of a furnace.

 

Pity the angels their impossible task – 

 

Having to say:

 

Leave the city, your only one, the one that you love,

with its taxi stops and north wind, butcher shops

and wash hanging on the line.

 

Having to say:

 

Escape with your life, your sons & daughters,

your reluctant spouse.

 

Surely God in Heaven could come in person

to suggest: Don’t look back.

 

No use pretending. Each of us – angel or human,

witting or unwitting – may be called on at any moment

to serve in this way, messenger for a message

we are unsure of.

 

Pity the message its compulsion to be heard,

its bone white lament:

            why do you set yourself against me? 

 

And pity the survivors their providence— 

 

Having to say:

 

What would come to pass caught me up short.

 

Now, the ash of the indiscriminate mingles

with the ash of the innocent. Wild boars roam freely,

licking salt wherever they find it. My children

horde their pleasure, no longer come around.

 

I am always looking back.

 

-Sue Swartz

 

 

Sue Swartz is a poet, essayist, and social justice activist from Bloomington, Indiana. You can find her commentary and poems about Torah, tattoos, and truth on her blog, Awkward Offerings.