For Father Stanley
Why did you come?
Why walk these bluestone sidewalks,
our streets crowded with Audis and Infinitis
our gardens planted to attract butterflies?
Why didn’t you write?
Should have sent pictures of schools, of clinics
that needed our money—
we would have responded.
Why, instead, did you frighten us
with tales of bombed churches,
priests gunned down in hospitals
parishioners mowed down in their pews?
Why did you say those things
so quietly
that even the lectern mic
struggled with your words?
And, now,
now that you are gone
how is it
we want you back?
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