The radio alarm this morning
leaked a slow dark stain.
Some deaths are quick
and almost fine. These
have caused the stars to reel
in pain.
Take my morning cup
of Earl Grey tea,
take the slow swell of quiet sun
through the autumn glass.
Take the polished surface
of the bed-side chest,
my fingernails, my very skin.
Listen
to the echoes of their mother,
still speaking of the day that Daesh came.
Forced her to watch.
We cannot even bear to hear.
Take two small girls to infinity
and keep their voices
safe.
Just their voices
