Learning Mercy

How does she swim up to the surface
After such a deep deep
Drowning of sensation
Where her last breath choked, held still
And then finally killed her.

What do you do after
2 days, 3 months, 10 years
of knowing your children
are not coming back.

They have been stolen by the good
Dogs of humanism,
Gone to cleaner kitchens,
More elaborate landscaping
Yards, houses, places where
The cupboards aren't bare and hands
Are for something other than just pain.

Or so she hopes everyday
That the dogs brought them new things,
Better food, kinder words
Like faith, hope, charity of thought.

Thinks, as she walks down
Kalum or Sparks,
Ferocious and wet,
2 new children by their hands.

How
one day they'll come home to her door
and she will not
know how to tell them:
I let the dogs in through our door,
when I forgot to feed you;
when you ran barefoot and late to school
a bag of potato chips for lunch
when there was no supper and the baby got so sick
and cried and cried and cried.

They came with lolling tongues and bitter
Words, red, those mouths;
Opened and closed.
She shut her ears to their noise,
turned around and you were gone.