These Are The Days
These Are The Days
These are the days—
These—these are the
Days—Lord, let me
Stand—I clutch, like
The Good Book—clutch
At Tante Corrie—committed
To memory—no Psalms,
No Lamentations—Words—
Like the concrete barracks
That gave you walls—framed
The understanding you took
Back to the world.
These—these are the days—
They knock—knock for these
Little ones—needles are
Daggers—cold stabs,
Like the Devil’s prick—
I long only to bathe—
To bathe like the Lionheart
And prepare for the coming battle.
Through the window, here,
Is this winter sun—pale and
Wan like the dim bulb in Barracks
28—the Word went forth
From Hell—among twisted
Bodies and a pile of
Soot that once danced—
Still and damp, cold like
Lazarus’ tomb—the sludge
Of the heart keeps keeps keeps
Its ticking.
They knock—knock for these
Little ones—and I—I stand at
This door, hands at my side.
Winter 2012
Dan Davis, © 2012
Dan Davis
