Novena of Massacres

by Brett Rutherford

What does Our Lady drink?

Blood for Our Lady of Ogassagou in Mali

Blood for Our Lady of Orlando

Blood for Our Lady of Bataclan

Blood for Our Lady of Charleston

Blood for Our Lady of Peshawar

Blood for Our Lady of Sinjar

Blood for Our Lady of Bentiu

Blood for Our Lady of Gudele

Blood for Our Lady of Rabaa

Blood for Our Lady of Houla

Blood for Our Lady of Kandahar

Blood for Our Lady of Pibor

Blood for Our Lady of Uror

Blood for Our Lady of Utoya Island

Blood for Our Lady of Maguindanao

Blood for Our Lady of Fort Hood

Blood for Our Lady of Conakry

Blood for Our Lady of Virginia Tech

Blood for Our Lady of Capitol Hill

Blood for Our Lady of Andorra

Blood for Our Lady of Haditha

Blood for Our Lady of Shafram

Blood for Our Lady of Andijan

Blood for Our Lady of Beslan

Blood for Our Lady of Netanya*

What does Our Lady eat?

Our Lady eats the bodies of abandoned children.

Our lady eats the corpses of infidels.

Our Lady eats the hearts of heretics and apostates.

Our Lady eats the souls of believers

     and the souls on nonbelievers
     without distinction.

Our Lady can never stop eating

     as long as there are dead bodies around.

Our Lady adores cathedrals, temples

     and sacrificial shrines.

Our Lady is the Avatar of Chaos,

     awake in the pit of the Blackest Hole.

Our Lady snacks on Popes and preachers,

     gnaws prophets and holy men,

     molar-grinds dictators and Congressmen,

     oyster-chucks spy chiefs and Security lords.

But best of all she loves the killing field

     and the harvest of those
     who never did harm to anyone.
These are the souls she savors most.

Our lady is on a rampage

     and the hot wind spurs her on.
Her tresses trail forest fires, her feet
are adorned with the burst tires
of tractor trailers; diesel-breath,
coal-tar oozing from her hairy nostrils.

Her halo hangs on her Kalashnikov.

Veni, veni, she comes, she comes!

*[The reader may substitute the names of the 25 most recent massacres.]
For a list, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_events_named_massacres

The Day Is Normal in My City

The day is normal in my city.
In the garden, Manuel is working,
and in the nursery, Celia warms
milk and prepares bedtime stories.
The children have not disappeared.

The lady chooses among three gowns.
The gentleman selects a red necktie.
They are going to the concert hall,
and there, in a walled garden,
behind brick-work and iron gates,
the man will clench his hand
(his cigar is not permitted),
while the lady sips her Sauvignon Blanc.

They will hear the Emperor Concerto.
They will listen to a grand Te Deum
with three hundred performers.
Up in the high balcony’s cheap seats
the mothers of the children’s chorus will smile.
Their children have not disappeared.

After the applause dies off,
the well-dressed crowd will flow down
the grand staircase.
The day is normal in my city,
but the unanswered question hangs
like an ominous storm cloud:
You, sir, you, madame! Did you vote for him?
Your children have not disappeared.

*** *** ***

This poem was written first in Spanish. Here is the original:

EL DÍA ES NORMAL EN LA CIUDAD

El día es normal en la ciudad.

Manuel, en el jardín, trabaja,

y Celia, en el cuarto de los niños,

calienta la leche, y ensaya

los cuentos de hadas.

Los niños no han desaparecido.

La ama de casa elige entre tres vestidos.

El esposo escoge una corbata roja.

Van al teatro para escuchar un concierto.

Y allí, en un jardín amurallado

detrás de ladrillos y puertas de hierro,

el señor apretará la mano

(su cigarro no está permitido),

mientras la señora sorbe un Sauvignon Blanc.

Oirán el Concierto “El Emperador.”

Escucharán un Te Deum grande

con trescientos ejecutantes.

Las madres del coro de niños

sonreirán desde el balcón superior.

Sus niños no han desaparecido.

Después que el aplauso se apague,

bien vestidos, la audiencia

fluye por la gran escalera.

El día es normal en la ciudad,

pero la pregunta sin respuesta

se cuelga como una nube de tormenta.

Tú, señor, tú, señora — ¿Votaron por él?

Tus niños no han desaparecido.