American blonde, who never longed,
Life was kind, but she was blind,
Always hygienic,
For grace she was told, was in it,
She smelled of sweet lilac her priest would tithe to that,
She never stopped to hear the cries,
Of those who suffered greater than thy,
Rail thin arms and bloated stomachs from days sitting by the road side,
Or mutilated bodies from days of genocide,
Were images never found in her head,
But in her heart she held a secret,
For in her soul she saw their eyes that cried no tears,
She took short showers.
-Melissa McDuffee
No comments:
Post a Comment