(For Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein)
Leaders, they speak like you!
Did we forget, the way of the Lord? A prayer shawl
Out of all things you snatched to keep
Your strong fingers attached—
Shall we memorialize the chair you stood on
Hands hanging by bloody tendrils?
How far I’d travel to put a hand on that chair
And to gaze at that shawl,
What image might one trace on that holy garment?
I know—something miraculous, the imprint of the angel
That jammed the rifle,
A piece of shattered wing-bone, alight!
The same angel that bound the killer’s neck
In blunt thorns, hooked words piercing the phone
As he confessed to the slaughter,
An act afloat in the swirling air, a sonic flight of innocent spirits,
A country like the corpse of a woman
Lying in the dark space that was once
Flooded in light
A hole where its heart used to beat.
© Alejandro Escudé
Alejandro Escudé
Alejandro received an MA from UC Davis and works as an English teacher. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles. A new book, “The Book of the Unclaimed Dead,” published by Main Street Rag Press, is now available. Alejandro is a single Dad to two great kids and lives in Los Angeles with his dog, Jake.
Alejandro received an MA from UC Davis and works as an English teacher. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles. A new book, “The Book of the Unclaimed Dead,” published by Main Street Rag Press, is now available. Alejandro is a single Dad to two great kids and lives in Los Angeles with his dog, Jake.
