SARA MURPHY
UNTITLED
To the preachers and the poets
who seduced me
who amazed me
with their glib philosophies and
infinite tomorrows
To the poets and the preachers
who persuaded
who degraded
with their penny-ante chants and
rhymes for ending sorrows
A sixteen year old catholic schoolgirl
knew little more
than a five year old in pigtails
about the world around her
anout the soul within her
or the music above her
or the hell below her
To the preachers and the poets
who raped me
who confused me
with their convoluted thinking
and too selective hate
To the poets and the preachers
who have left me
a bereft me
I will find a world in which
YOU do not fit
UNTITLED
i sing over fear
fear leads to a humming
or buzzing in the Brain
i sing over fear
fear vibrates in the ears
and catches in the throat
i sing over fear
when the Towers collapsed
and the Pentagon smoked
the wafts of charred bodies
mixed with the fear
filling my nose my ears
and my Brain
the night a Nation wept
i sang over fear
in deserted streets of the
capital of a country
brought to its knees
beggars went through garbage
and bartenders poured drinks
and i stood with a band
of angry men and sang
over the fear drowning out
the din with my wailing
keening for a summer gone
forever knowing that on
the last note’s recession
the fear would rise and
chant but for the moment it
was muffled and for a
moment i was free