Plait
her
hair
and mackerel clouds thicken
Her teeth split this skin
white roof of hand
with ganglion curls saying up
The cup's thrown
and the big bent
jack of so and so
Her black plastic alice band
serrated
not holy
Incisors:
thumb tip cut out
alive alive
alive
like a stab in the eye
thieved kiss
or bursting a blister
iridescent lid dark wickedness
Sometimes the fits
look like laughing
To have a caretaker role in the warehousing of humans must be difficult for a person of ethics and compassion.
ReplyDeleteDown through the ages, this sort of segregation-from-the-normals by binning may have been routinely dressed-up as a form of humane consideration.
But the process may well have always had a more profound purpose, that is, the removal from view of those "different" ones whose presence reminds that things are not as they are said to be, here, in this world of God's creation.
It's a curious thing, to find yourself on the wrong side of the walls of the Civitas Dei. When we do have our trips out (the phrase is "community engagement"), you should see the faces of the normals from where we're standing.
ReplyDeleteHaving made them other and shorn them of even the semblance of subjecthood, the trim and tidy world can't have any proper sense of either its hurts or joys.
Not holy, therefore as holy as G_d knows what.