Song of growing concern
by Christine Rodgers

And so,
the world, it seems
has become nothing more
than a brightly hung
piñata

small boys with long sticks
swatting and batting
at it from every
direction.

Not blindfolded exactly
but blind in the most
essential way. They do not
will not see what they are
doing.

What carnage will fly out
of the donkey once its
legs are broken. There will
not be prettily wrapped candies
and glittering strands of
colored beads

like those that are gathered
up during Mardi Gras. No.
Nothing like that at all.
There will be limbs and bones
and great quantities of blood
washing the world red.

Fury, I suppose, is red.
If emotions have color I
picture fury to be red. There
seems to be so much fury
these days.

And so little wisdom. So little
thought. Wisdom, I suppose,
is a very pale color – one that is
hardly seen. Unnoticed really.
Not considered. It doesn’t stand
out.

Stand up. It sits quietly in the
corner waiting to be chosen.
Waiting for a small boy to put
down his stick. Waiting. Still
waiting.

January 2003

Christine Rodgers is an actor and writer living in San Francisco. She considers both acting and writing to be forms of giving witness and also of praying. Chris is currently working on a theatre piece exploring the idea of "call" and the mystical life. She may be reached by email at tallpilgrim12@hotmail.com