Vigil

No one has come to mourn us but ourselves
A sparse crowd, a thin reminder. 

We read the names aloud, the numbered tide
of filicide, the murders renamed mercy killings
by virtue of their victims. 

Our lives, you remind us, unworthy of life.
And in the lists of names always the unnamed: 

Baby girl 7-year-old girl 6-year-old boy Baby girl Girl 83-year-old woman Baby boy 4-year-old boy Boy 21-year-old man 30-year-old man 8-year-old boy 21-year-old man 5-year-old boy Boy 20-year-old man 21-year-old man Baby boy Boy 6-year-old girl 11-year-old girl 40-year-old man 16-year-old girl 37-year-old man 12-year-old boy 68-year-old-woman 14-year-old girl 9-year-old boy 31-year-old man 5-year-old girl 63-year-old man 83-year-old woman 56-year-old man 40-year-old woman 5 year old girl 8-year-old boy 3-week-old baby 66-year-old man 9-month-old baby 69-year-old woman Baby boy

The never-ebbing tide.

And with each unnamed name, my throat
grows hollow, my voice unvoiceable. 

Lay my body by the others, my brother
and my sisters. Light the candle
leave the calla. 

This is no place for speech,
only for sorrow