Strong voice flowing from the podium,
The wisest words I believe,
feel that soothing warmth.
but shrouded under the table are
ghosts of grandmas, sent to their
graves, one after one—
On he speaks while his hands are hot
with their drying blood. I wonder
can't I find a leader with clean hands,
left and right open for all to see?
He pulls a rabbit out. A toy, but we say it's real.
We believe because the voice
is saying what we want to hear.
Drag the bodies to the dumps;
we will willingly forget and—
I am a former librarian, currently teaching and being a friend to children in New York and Ghana, Africa. I also help ESL adults with English. I have published in a number of journals, including Shot Glass Journal, and have published two books of poetry, Toward Freedom and Singing on Subways.