excerpt

Though versions conflict, I remember
 the October afternoon more than a decade ago
I read a headline into the mouthpiece
Amish Schoolhouse Shooting
While the window shades were closing
Telephone means “far voice”
The eleventh girl got away
Through a window
Through the floor
From her seat by the door
Yes, Daughter, he always answered
I was looking as I am now at light through the keyhole
The eleventh girl got away
When one whispered she should tiptoe,
When a voice—whose voice?—told her to run
When the boys and women were let go
Dad and I wondered
How the community, collectively, forgave the killer
Fed his family the same day
Attended his funeral
Gelassenheit, “submission to God”
Ten girls were shot at the blackboard, post- recess
The subjects were spelling and German
The eleventh girl got away
With a little boy
Without her older sister
Between two women who looked back
To see an angel over the school
Though versions conflict


Where’d it come from—the pocket angel in my container garden?
Drape of outstretched stone arms, stone pooling at hidden feet

Can stone drape?
If stone may be flesh, yes, stone may drape, stone may pool

Tomorrow the sky should be bluer for today’s coming storm
Tomorrow I will play wispy cirrus, letting go of my grudges

Today stone is stone and sky too