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 Tsun Haggarty is an artist, educator, and scholar, who believes in art and practices art as a way of knowing. She writes as a route to meaning. In these times of pestilence and quarantine, she is grateful for and seeks solace in the digital highway, through which we may find places where we can be together while physically separated, where we can connect and relate and commiserate. May these hospices stay virus-free.

One thought on “Friday

  1. Jerin

    Thanks for sharing this great poem Holly


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