Where would we be without Brenda and The Whirl!? If you haven’t been by, make it part of your day and visit The Sunday Whirl.
A Culturally Sponsored Sacrifice
They tell her she should feel pride: her son
is a martyr for the state. All she feels
is ambivalence. She concentrates on breathing;
her soul empties of everything but
the terrible tenderness a mother feels.
They tell her God is pleased with her son;
he died gloriously. Her mind flaps and scurries —
what use are prayers, now — surely a God who is pleased
at the death of a son will sense her fear, as
faith evaporates like incense.
They tell her she is blessed. Her son
has done a holy thing. She feels as if
she is hearing them from under water. She
stands, dazed, wishing not to celebrate the death
of a Jihadi, only to grieve a mother’s loss.
The process was one of those coming togethers which I love about writing poetry. Friday night, I copied Brenda’s words, sorting them into columns, to begin the thinking. Saturday morning I read the lead-in to Chris Goan’s blog, This Fragile Tent, and jotted notes. I wanted to do a found poem based only on the lead-in. Then, I glanced at the wordle words and jotted notes there. I came back later, looked at the words, reread the lead-in and bob’s your uncle.
I would like to play with this and you all are particularly good at giving me ideas. I would love it, if you have time, if you will make suggestions, critique, tell me what springs to mind… anything.