El Paso Miles Away

These are hot dark electric days

when clouds gather and the atmosphere boils,

and heat and heaviness stick to the soul.

Yet, the clouds will not break.

Oh, there will be a downpour—

lives swept away briefly

for eternity. Days and months of not knowing

how to stop

the mind grinding, how to drown

the dull jack-hammer pain, how to fill

the gaping—

A life here vanquished from its time

and place in the big spiraling fecundity

of existence that stares from the corner

of the couch towards a loved one.

Where one should be, now sits absence smiling terribly.

Oh my God, how do they carry on?

These are hot dark electric days

when clouds gather and the atmosphere boils,

and heat and heaviness stick to the soul.

Yet, the clouds will not break.

Oh, there will be a downpour—

of love, of sympathy,

of prayers to our God,

of pledges to be more open,

to be more human, to reach out—

And then there will be

a dark heavy silence,

a not naming of the parts,

a thick, toxic politeness.

The air will wait.

And we will wait

for the next roll call

of the voided

in some other city

that matters

to somebody

else.

©Steve Brown 2019