Suppose someone
began to recite the name of every
man, woman, and child
killed in war?
The soldiers who killed each other.
Civilians slain in their homes,
washing clothes by the river,
planting or harvesting crops,
living factory lives,
alive in millions of ways
before weapons spoke louder.
If that person speaks out loud
the name of every victim,
we might be absolved,
go back to the beginning,
have another chance to do it right:
all centuries without war,
the human imagination freed,
able to dream beyond reality.
In my ravings, what if that person
were you or me, our voice shaking,
droning the names towards eternity.
Originally published in The Corvus Review