Damp

A long night is over
and while there’s no dawn yet
it’s clearly coming,

There is always a dawn.
Always have been dawns.
Likely will be for seasons yet.

You are an American.
You get to count on things
like dawn being there for you.

You’ve heard of such things
as bombings and such.  You’ve heard
of such things as sudden death.

It’s been a while and the news 
gets worse, stays bad
and spreads like a wet spot

on a table. This is a local surprise.
An intrusion. An unexpected 
blot on things.  Dawn can be like that.

The light and the news spreads and
it’s feeling all Gaza in Massachusetts.
Feels like a mistake, out of place.

Look, you say — a body
on the sidewalk? Do I know that person?
Shake your head, turn away from it.

Gossip about it at work for a week,
then forget it. Gaza ain’t in Massachusetts.
No matter what death tries to tell you,

it has to have a reason even if
it doesn’t make any sense.  And it doesn’t.
Dawn coming up a stained mistake.

Catch the glory of sunrise
over the changed world.  Someone bought it 
down the street. Don’t you feel damp now?