on tragedy…

To: A mother

Re: Her Two Children

Called in for help

From Toronto, Central

Your son, 17, sits behind bars

Your daughter, 14, (lies in hospital)

Behind horrors

Surviving – barely

You lay on her a Joseph cloak

To cover your Jacob love

He’s clothed in the orange smoke

Of a Cain sacrifice

10 minutes too late



You see him, flesh of your flesh,

For 30 minutes you abide

Blood of your blood

Spend 23 hours and 30 minutes

By her bedside

And wonder not to judge

Support him but never sympathize

Console her but never accusize

With words

But with your eyes

Do you condone and let her die,


Or disown

and let him wither that you have birthed

tended, defended, rendered


Heartful – mother only