Martyrs
The day wasn’t the best or the worst on
a wide spectrum with a billion points of
contact between polar ends, guilt some dark
energy that can be measured, not proved.
They waited for me, some under a tree,
others at the shoreline, the visible
ones wishing to sacrifice themselves for
their hidden children. Take us instead, they
seemed to say, we will offer ourselves up
if you will just spare our ideals, the hope
we are trying to raise from the dirt to
become greater than we are, more than we
could be who must remain where we are fixed,
too big to move, too old to make any
difference. They called to me as if by
surrendering themselves they could alter the
outcomes of their offspring, as if there
were no pockets nor baskets in the world
into which their sons and daughters would be
eagerly thrust or absent-mindedly
dropped, disappearing from their loved ones through
purpose or indifference or any
one of a million reasons in between.