By .

We hear of the death of a man.
By key stroke. Counting
Another number. This could be you.
This could be me.

We hide the death of a child.
Deep in the womb. Living
Uneasy. Murdering easy.
Handful of shining clink.

We bear the death of a land.
In black smoke. Coughing. Uprooting
Breath. Limbs limp with fever.
Closed in prayer.

We fear the death of the Word.
By the book/podium/screen. Excising
Tongues. Tearing hearts.
Taped shut.

We hold the death of our God.
Deep in our hearts. Dying.
All that remains. Charred wood.
Grey ash.

—April 17, 2020

About Holly Tsun Haggarty

Holly (Descroches Tsun) Haggarty, PhD, is an artist, educator and scholar. She loves that art offers a way to connect with others and build communities, whether they be familial, local, ecological, global, or universal. Lately, when not working at her desk, she might be out exploring the riverside trails of Thunder Bay, contemplating or composing, all the while pushing her napping grandson in his stroller. You can find her recently published open-access dissertation on belief, art, and knowing here.

One thought on “Friday

  1. Jerin

    Thanks for sharing this great poem Holly


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