Here Shows Much Amiss

We set up a reunification center. We’re good at that.
Told you to come to the firehouse to find your child–
It was a firehouse. We’ve got the drill down by now, the lists of names,
The handoff, the room where they take you if
You’re here to be reunited with a corpse. All we need is a DNA sample,
Or to know if her green Converse had a heart.

We can pretend we didn’t hear your screams, like children in school
Hiding under the desks and pretending they won’t die. Behind the arras,
Polonius recites the maxims he shared with his son before
Sending him off to study, the rules that guarantee a long and risk-free life.

So if it wasn’t you today, then come, come with us
To a bowling alley or a bar, a queer nightclub or a grocery store,
Because this night probably won’t end in reunification.

And if your beloved lies among the faceless dead
Be comforted–the face he used to have
Is marshalled in the ranks now, a thumbnail in a newspaper grid.
The name that once was yours to whisper
Will be reposted, reported, part of everyone’s arsenal.

O do not think your sparrow fell forgotten
While we—the good, sane people—offer you words, words, words
And with the other hand signal to the offstage fool:
Go, bid the madmen shoot.

October 26, 2023
USA

Maya Chhabra