by Pavel Chichikov
They took one-half your face away
An eye for an eye of cancer in the bone
The nose, one half of it, the cheek
Much like that poor village in a foreign land
Destroyed it to save it –
Not even lepers lose themselves this fast
I thought: is this contempt
That God has for His suffering
That He would trash His own creation so?
Years ago I saw
The huge skill of a monstrous child
The mouth split down the middle of the palate
Still on it lived
Still on it turned and twisted in its crib
As much alive as you and me
And I
Though outwardly not twisted over-much
Am twisted and deformed by acts and memories
And as they say in true or false contrition
By what I've done, and what I've failed to do –
Loss, loss of love is worst
Not one of us goes whole into the judgment
Regret and pain, disfigurement for those who stay awake
Through awful days and nights
We are the screaming children in the burning house
Whom no one saves
Until the very walls explode
Strange God who would participate in this guignol
Himself by agony dismembered
Whip, by nail, by rivet
Now listen we may not console
By anything we say or do
But now remember all the mercy we have shown
And hope it will be shown to us
Release from every fatal sorrow
Love returned for every agony
How difficult, how pitiful it seems
Small token bent for dismal foreign grace
And yet true coin when all else counterfeits
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
