Great Public Mourning Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

The girl always wore tight jeans
and painted her face
with extravagant make-up
the husband also my student
wrote poetry
no one understood
and often landed in trouble.

In Brownsville, Brooklyn
the day after the double murder
rain now
endless fall from Heaven
into Earth
pure
yet tinged grey
from the vast sky sphere
and happy
those in lit homes
hearts secure pulsing
far from the graves
of two tiny children
smothered into eternal silence
by a mother’s love
twisted in a moment
into madness
redemption distant
if at all
the Almighty weeping
Brooklyn weeping
Bernstein weeping.