I will not be writing a gentle prayer today
The words pour forthÂ
from the bloody ink of my pen
There is no song of comfortÂ
adequate enough
to drown out the echoesÂ
of dead children’s laughterÂ
Â
America is a stainÂ
that cannot be scrubbed clean
There is no cure
for such blackened soulsÂ
that walk amongst us, festering like a wound, infecting us all
Â
America, we are rotting from within
and there is no cure for our diseaseÂ
America, we are wounded and woundingÂ
Oh beautiful, for spacious skies
What love can you rain down for those of us here on the ground?Â
Â
Oh Holy one whose liminality surrounds usÂ
How can you be everywhere all at onceÂ
and nowhere when we need you the most?Â
No, I will not be writing a gentle prayer today
Â
I am tired of praying to a silent God
I am tired of moving forward when all I want to do is stand in one place
and scream
I am tired of marching for changeÂ
when things only seem to getA writ of divorce. Traditionally, only a man can grant his wife a get. Liberal Jews have amended this tradition, making divorce more egalitarian. worse
Most days, I am just simply tired
Â
We have gone on when we should have stopped and mourned
Flags should fly at half mast every day
There is no such thing as
business as usual
When we go back to “normal”
just what is it we are supposed to be getting back to?
Â
Childhood should be a time for magic
A time for bare feet in tall grasses,Â
for play and discovery, for being carefreeÂ
Instead, bullets have shatteredÂ
the land of make believeÂ
and our smallest, most precious onesÂ
are caught in a trauma loopÂ
managing fears they shouldn’t evenÂ
have to imagine, let alone experienceÂ
While we bear silent witnessÂ
helplessÂ
unable to do what must be doneÂ
to save us all
