How beautiful you are, my daughter
more beautiful than at birth, my son
blue as an angel or star
before you fell to Earth.
Not the illusory blue of sky and sea
but a thick blue
like rocks under water
or birds at a great distance.
With no visible wounds
except a spot of blood on your dress
your mouth where
blood dried blue.
That you died no one would doubt.
Your blue lips will never open,
not to speak or laugh and your curious
indigo eyes will never gaze with wonder
at the miracle of life.
Death too is a wonder
the awesome gun, the massive bomb
the deafening noise, the trembling
concrete and splintered wood.
Everything cracked and rubbled,
broken and smashed.
My beautiful children,
their blue bodies here in my arms,
their spirits flown away—
but where?
–
Summer Brenner is the author of a dozen books of poetry (The Figures), short stories (Coffee House, Red Hen Press), novellas (Spuyten Duyvil), noir fiction (PM Press, Gallimard’s la serie noire), and social justice novels for youth. A memoir, Dust, about her schizophrenic brother was published in 2024.
