Job Poem

After the Massacre

The pit is filled to the brim
with pieces of bones.
The survivors of disaster are pelted under the harsh rain,
memories of the lost make movement into their hands.
Humanity’s tears are silent winds chilling the hearts.

The scientist march in.
Heads held high,
but eyes filled with stones.
They carry out the bodies
and bow to the men and women and children.

To them. the lip is not the lip,
rather, it’s the curves, the crests, and the lines of  porcelain bone.
Covered in dirt and grime, white leaning over the mourning rain.

The scientists find these bodies in Death, painted in white.
and examine the the external, inferior, and the internal jaggers
in meatless flesh.
Many names have come to this place, a place of the dead.
(the names are left to be neglected under the lamps and heat).

Lights bleared and swayed under the shadows.
With just the forgotten and the unnamed, they find the grooves—
those uncovered passages
hidden in death.

They may find answers,
they may find truth.
They will.
All is the same between these monochrome children.
All is the same in life.

The scientist search,
in all black and in all white.
They chop the teeth,
stare holes into the human glass,
pity the cracks and shatters.

People are at the edges of their seats
to watch those adults with their straighten backs
and their high heads.
Their words are spoken in slow, delicate tunes,
their eyes fill with retribution.
The case has ended with the Goddesses of Judgement.

Day in and day out
they are surrounded by death.
They have to peel away the lies and find the words
(the very last words)
that were left behind
through the puzzles in the bodies.

Despite the stench and the weight,
they still find truth
they still give hope
in all black and white.
They continue the past and continue the present
in that transparent organ
left behind.