The Priest has
said the Lord will
send the sun
on good and bad,
the mist to cool
the hunter
and his prey,
even if he’s there
behind the fence
behind the school,
knowing the girl
will walk alone
at half-past-three,
the breeze to
sweep the leaves
where she will lay,
moistened
with the worms that
squirm along her.
I am the Lamp of
My indifference—
blowing up a shadow
on the wall,
a knife in hand
the length of a
hallowed sword,
ready to thrust
its victim
in the back:
a mother/wife
in slumber, a dream
of her blushing
boy, the way he
cups the kitten
in his grasp,
that all is finally
right with the god-
damn world.
Andreas Gripp
February 2, 2025
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