Postcard 27

One loves a catastrophe when it is
Elsewhere, someone else's, can be
Kept at arm's length, at a distance
Close enough to imagine one can
Feel the pain, but safely
Far away so the details are blurred
Not "love" as we traditionally
Use the word, but how else to
Describe the ghoulish fascination
The performative displays of grief
The overwrought mourning for a
Number of humans whose names
Remain unknown? Once the
Sound bites end and the
Attention goes elsewhere, we are
Left to recover alone, to go on.
Luckily, our city has shoulders
Big enough to carry us forward
We do not need to look to
Mountains for we built
Buildings that can scrape the sky
You can keep your tears, thank you, for they are
As helpful as thoughts and prayers


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