knife clenched
in numb fingers
I carve vertical lines
into white plaster
that crumbles
to my touch
I notch each loss
deeply into
the walls
a makeshift
I long for neat
parallel lines
to honor the dead
but my hands

© 2020 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved



  1. Hands?
    Yours tremble?
    Mine shake
    Like glass
    Wants broken
    Into shards
    Crushed under foot
    To return to sand

    Unmelt me

    But first
    Pick a shard
    Of me
    To help carve
    so many…

    So many
    So many
    So many

    Wake me from my
    Nightly nightmare
    Screaming, I don’t
    Want it’s memory

    So many
    So many
    So many

    Pick my shard
    Off the ground
    And carve

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Numbers check… how many Americans have died during/because of republican presidents… 9/11… Afghanistan and Iraq invasions… now COVID 19… write a poem on that number…

        Liked by 1 person

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