Margie Skelly

FOR OSAMA BIN LADEN, MAY 1, 2011

Will there be a higher angel who looks after you in spite?
The first flame of the after-life begins the moment you lose breath,
A kindling of almost ten years, the twigs and branches of 2,900 dead.

Their after-life hands meld in unison. Will you look with blackened eyes,
Soot covering the iris, for whimpering virgins, your blindness thick as robes?
Will there be a higher angel who looks after you in spite of?

Who will stand at your scorched back, what mansion hold the bones of failed flight?
Perhaps you will build it one small brick at a time with no help for hire.
You will touch a tear drop with withered hand, try to swallow the salt of grief,

No master plans here for creating terror every starless never-ending night,
Fuel so close to you, you can almost smell its wonder, see your magical explosions,
Watch the death of Christian and Moslem alike.

You will touch a tear drop with withered hand, try to swallow the salt of grief,
Beg to taste the beauty of someone else’s eternal.
Will you cry for your God, even the Son of God?

Allah and Jesus appear hand in hand, in searing white,
Live in the same mansion, and you will recognize neither.

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