Poem for a Week that Contains Ash Wednesday, Valentine's Day, and a Mass Shooting at School

I love Rattle, in all its incarnations:  the bound journal, the online poems, the various projects.  I'm especially drawn to the Poets Respond series, which Rattle explains this way:  "At least every Sunday we publish one poem online that has been written about a current event that took place the previous week. This is an effort to show how poets react and interact to the world in real time, and to enter into the broader public discourse." 

I've often thought that I should commit to submitting a poem each week to the Poets Respond series, but I often don't.  I average 1-4 poems a year, far short of 52 poems that I'd compose if I committed to responding each week.

This week, I submitted the poem that came to me after the school shooting in Florida, the third event which happened on Wednesday.  Wednesday also contained Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day.  On Thursday morning, very early in the tradition of my ancestors, I made bread, only to discover I would need more flour.  On the way home, as dawn began to break, I realized I still had the Ash Wednesday ashes on my head.

On Thursday and Friday, I composed the following poem, which I don't think is one of my best, but it might have potential.  I thought about putting more death and gun and mass violence imagery in the poem, but because I wanted to submit to Rattle, I ran out of time.  Perhaps that's good.


The Bluest Hour Before the Dawn

The morning after one of the worst
school shootings yet, in the bluest
hour before the dawn,
I ground myself by making bread
because it is too dark
to dig in the garden
or repot the petunias.

I discover I have just enough
flour to make a sponge
and so I get dressed quickly.
I want to beat
the morning commuters, so I don’t
even brush my teeth or hair.
I’ll be back to knead the dough
before the crowds descend
to clog the cash register lines.

I buy the flour and a few
other items we’ll need soon: 
milk and juice and a lipstick in a rusty
shade I thought was discontinued.
I consider the discounted
Valentine’s products, but I have already proven
my love with a flower bouquet clipped
from the tropical bushes that line the fence.

As I drive home, the light begins its slow bleed
across the sky, and I realize that I still wear
the ash cross on my forehead from last night’s
service. Dust we are, dust
and the remains of stars and the bread
dough that remains under my nails
long after the day is done.