by John Sibley Williams
Not that the alloy filament sparking
iron wires needs us to call this light.
Even in our absence, shadows flee,
& when the switch lowers, return to
us undiminished. Not that the dead
won't still be here in the morning if
we dress their wounds & declare the
world healed. It's not that anything
really heals. Not that torture works
or fails. Even if they drown upside
down in a small bucket of water in
white room lit by a single swaying
bulb, our questions keep coming.
Last updated November 25, 2022