Tuesday, October 28, 2014

A Little Black


A Little Black

 - Brendan Constantine

The children of Juarez have run out
of red crayons. There’s so much blood
in their eyes; the bodies of mules
dumped in their schools, hands & heads
by the road, blood in pools, blood
in stories of blood. Before I know it,
I’m planning my own crime, the worst
a poet can commit: to steal suffering,
call it mine. How vivid, I think, what
a strong detail on which to build.
I open my computer, the great self-
making book of our age, search for
more of the story, for the words run
out of red crayons. I find children
out of red in Pakistan, in Haiti, no red
left in Afghanistan, none in Georgia.
The children of Sierra Leon have gone
through pink to purple, in Myanmar
they’re down to brown. I thought I had
something to add. I have nothing to add
but a little black, the color of the line,
color that consumes all others.

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