The comet taught us how to watch the war.
The comet contended that fire
is romantic and recommended we each behold it alone,
envisioning out there somewhere our next
lover, craning up at this same sky.
Was the comet simply endeavoring
to keep us divided, I asked it, and the comet
did not reply. Then we discovered the men
who wanted us dead
were convening at night on the site where their hero
had been unceremoniously
interred. And so we exhumed the guy, burned him up,
and fed his ash to the rapids,
to be churned into marlstone and mud-rich
air. Good thinking. Now he’s everywhere.
The author’s work can be found in the volume, Hard Child.
Think about how the poem made you feel. Are your own views on war based on your own experience, the experience of others, or somewhere safely far away?
May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.