A small shiny insect crawled methodically across
the clean, white sheet of paper,
trying to crawl across before I stained it
with my useless words.
So arrogant and determined in his steps.
I am grateful it was not a spider.
So very grateful it was not
you among the dead in Kenya,
in Chicago, in wherever.

said the shotgun to the head*
Have you ever been kissed by God?

A mother loses a son,
a child loses a mother,
a son–a father, a father–a son
kissed by a shotgun, kissed by God.
Guns make holes in people and they die.

said the shotgun to the head
was that kiss so sensual that you fell to your knees?

I am here, following the
steps of the little beetle so very closely
doing what I can to keep you alive.

When we kill, are we the methodical beetle
Or delivering a kiss from God?

* Russell Williams.  Lines taken out of context and their order in his original poem.

Selected byKaci Skiles Laws
Image credit:Image Catalog

Susan is new to poetry. She divides her time between New York where she helps create innovative startups in the fin tech world and Vermont where she likes to build stuff on her farm.  Poetry is both a means for sense of the world and a way to harken back to fond memories of writing extensively in school.