MERCY Poem by Esther Jansma
MERCY
The sea is gentle with sounds
and so long as in the village square the son
lays his head on the block,
indoors the mother lights the candles
on his coffin, lays the table,
watery light seeks the corpse-pale skin
of the sea at the village's edge, the mouth
fills with departure, the head
feels itself falling, the axe does not fall.
Friday, August 10, 2018
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6/15/2024 1:26:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
