by Alice Sims-Gunzenhauser
My father awoke one Saturday
and died as fast
as though a bomb had fallen.
There was no bomb, only
the rogue rhythm
of his heart.
Our anguish seems so pure now,
the sobbing all turned inward.
Did we understand the gift
we had been given,
to grieve without rage
or horror,
without the knowledge that
honed malice
had crushed beloved flesh?
Would that there were a tonic
to suck out the venomous rage
of war, to leave the heartbreaks of life
untainted,
a balm…
Alice Sims-Gunzenhauser is a visual artist and poet in New Jersey. Her art has been exhibited locally and regionally; she has had poems published in Kelsey Review and on The New Verse News. After a 43-year career working in educational assessment, she is happy to be able to dig deeper into both media.