1000 Small Murders
Examination of Conscience
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
I committed a thousand small murders.
My lips, my tongue, my lungs conspired.
I premeditated. I littered minds with doubts.
I sliced open hearts. I swallowed up souls
and ran them over.
I made a thousand small murders with words.
They bubbled up out of me as I uncorked my
chagrin. The carbonated language
stung my eyes. I sneezed. I spoke too soon.
With too many words, I adorned the world
and destroyed the world.
Last month, I created a thousand small murders.
I waited; I hoarded truth until it was useful.
I gossiped. Slanderous words, hateful words.
I scribbled in pen, I scrawled in crayon.
The graffiti on the wall was me.
I shook the aerosol can and sprayed violently.
I choked on the fumes. I addressed it all to you.
Enthusiastically, I killed all my beautiful words,
waiting to live, aborted hopes. I buried them
underground, but daisies were pushing them out,
and I kept mowing them over because I forgot that
good words are fertile. I thought death was the
end of it. Worlds walk around; words drive
around in bumper cars, and we call the happy
accidents inspiration and unfortunate ones
despair.
With all these horrible
words I collected and planted, lethal time bombs
I strapped on. I plotted.
I murdered a thousand last month.
Small murders…
