So, This is Not a Poem, Either.
I don't wan
I don't want to write poetry about a white an anti-Semitic man who killed, among the eleven, a 97 year old holocaust survivor while she worshiped at her synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States of America October 26, 2018. So, this is not a poem.
A poem would help the reader to feel as Mark of
Pittsburgh did when he wrote, “Hard to see the pictures of my brother’s shul, on the street where I’ve walked thousands of times… it feels so personal and so scary and so so so sad….,” but I have, in fact, read Mark's letter and can report that the deepest sadness has a kind of beauty, but a mass murder during shabbat does not. So, this is not a poem.
Sometimes a poem projects a beauty that is hard to perceive like a rabbi and priest in a long embrace bonding over common pain: lives murdered at a place of worship. I can't even imagine the pain that birthed that kind of love. So, this is not a poem.
What would be the point of trying to find a rhyme about murder and hate or whether or not the United States will find a solution when she investigates yet another home-grown terrorist when she insists that the answer is more guns? This, even if the poet could find a rhyme, doesn't answer those questions so, this is not a poem.
A poem would inform us that Charleston is now a synonym for Pittsburgh a synonym born in hell, that put us through hell and made us contemplate whether or not we are the last souls before… I don't want you to think about that: heaven and hell or whether or not they even exist, I just want you to be happy, so this is not a poem