poetry

6/6/22

I Am, and I Am Not

I am partially disabled, which means
I am sometimes disheartened
I am occasionally discouraged, and
I am frequently discombobulated, but
I AM NOT MY DISABILITY

In rare moments
I am dispirited, disenchanted, disturbed, disaffected,
In even rarer moments–
I am altogether disillusioned, and vaguely disinterested, but
I AM NOT MY DISABILITY

If my essence could be distilled
If I were on display
I would have to dispute, and maybe disallow
That distant, disingenuous discussion, because
I AM NOT MY DISABILITY

I am disinclined to find things I dislike
About myself, or view my body with disdain
My life is NOT in disarray, because
I am only partially disabled, and
I AM NOT MY DISABILITY

5/27/22

according to some reports

According to some reports
The shooter believed in God
But does God believe in him?
According to some reports
The shooter was sick
But not too sick to buy the gun–to buy the ammo–
to buy the gear that allowed him to take the children
Did God believe in him then?
Did God believe in him
When he pointed the gun at his grandmother?
Or maybe it was when he entered the classroom?
Did God believe in him then?
Or maybe the shooter believed he was God—
Deciding that he would turn nineteen,

But Xavier wouldn’t…And Amerie wouldn’t…And Annabell wouldn’t…
And Uziah wouldn’t…And Makenna wouldn’t…And Jose wouldn’t…
And Rojelio wouldn’t…And Elijah wouldn’t…And Eliahna wouldn’t…
And Jayce wouldn’t…And Jaliah wouldn’t…And Tess wouldn’t
And Alexandria wouldn’t…And Jackie wouldn’t…And Nevaeh wouldn’t…
And Layla wouldn’t…And Alithea wouldn’t…And Maite wouldn’t…
And Miranda wouldn’t…

But from what I’ve read
God doesn’t need any more eighteen-year-old soldiers, jacked up
On crackpot conspiracies, fueled by malicious media, wrapped in an imperfect constitution
To decide who lives and who dies
My God mocks your thoughts and your prayers, wondering why,
Instead of thinking and praying,
We didn’t do something
Anything

For Xavier, for Amerie, for Annabelle, for Uziah
For Makenna, for Jose, for Rojelio, for Elijah,
For Eliahna, for Jayce, for Jaliah, for Tess,
For Alexandria, for Jackie, for Nevaeh, for Layla,
For Alithea, for Maite, for Miranda—

According to some reports, the shooter believed in Heaven
But if there is a Heaven—a mighty big “if”—
The shooter isn’t there
The shooter isn’t famous
The shooter is forgotten
And the names that are remembered
Are the names he tried to erase