by Diane Elayne Dees
How do we mourn
those who lost their lives
in the great Bowling Green
Massacre? For no one knows
how many died, who was left
lame or blind, who tearfully stares
at the photo of a dead loved one
at the end of each day.
How can we grieve
when the talking heads conspire
to cover up the detritus
of a bloody national tragedy,
while the women wearing hijabs
laugh at us behind their sinister
veils? The survivors have been
silenced, their misery dismissed.
How do we move on
if we are not allowed to rage
at those who came from a foreign
place, and quietly entered
Bowling Green and slaughtered
unknown numbers? The secret
had to be exposed, the reckoning
will come in time. Prepare.
How do we mourn
those who lost their lives
in the great Bowling Green
Massacre? For no one knows
how many died, who was left
lame or blind, who tearfully stares
at the photo of a dead loved one
at the end of each day.
How can we grieve
when the talking heads conspire
to cover up the detritus
of a bloody national tragedy,
while the women wearing hijabs
laugh at us behind their sinister
veils? The survivors have been
silenced, their misery dismissed.
How do we move on
if we are not allowed to rage
at those who came from a foreign
place, and quietly entered
Bowling Green and slaughtered
unknown numbers? The secret
had to be exposed, the reckoning
will come in time. Prepare.
Diane Elayne Dees's poetry has been published in many journals and anthologies. Diane also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that covers women's professional tennis worldwide.
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