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Silent Night

It’s Wednesday, and the call is out for all poets to link up to One Shot Wednesday and visit incredible poets.

 

 

Oh silent night, most unholy birth.

Quick!  Quick!  What have we done?

In the back yard!

Bury it before morning comes.

When the neighbors ask

About the dirt mound,

We’ll say it was just our cat.

Nobody has to know, and

If we just deny it long enough

It will be like it never happened.

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20 thoughts on “Silent Night

  1. Seriously, though – still shaking off vertigo from election silliness/horrors, apparently, as well as the reading of sixty poems (thus far today) – your poem is short, sharp, and vaguely horrific.

    Apologies for the Tea Party joke (no offense was intended) – you don’t know me, so you don’t know that I make fun of everything, myself especially.

    • I am a middle school behavior disorders teacher–I am very hard to offend. It’s also probably why I have those cynical days that cause horrific poems. Thanks for stopping!

  2. If only we could that!! WITHOUT being worried later, ofcourse! 🙂
    This really was a spooky read! Got me thinking of a whole lotta stuff…. of the stuff I might have buried in the backyard of my mind.. (sigh)

    Nicely written, Teresa… very thought provoking!
    Thanks for sharing this poem with poetry potluck…

  3. i kinda thought of a security blanket and trying to break the habit from the child…maybe coz my favourite teddy vanished when i was young…and i am sure my parents too it…great read…and very intriguing…cheers pete

  4. This was startling and sad too – I suppose there’s a chance we can hide these sorts of things from the neighbours, but can we really hide it from ourselves? – maybe for a time, but truth will out, and at the most inopportune time. A good write.

  5. Oh, this strikes to the heart. We have a trial right now in Atlanta, where a young woman struck and killed (with her car) 5 people…two adults and three children….one a 5 month old infant.

    She went on, home…had her car (with the help of her mother) fixed….and denied all involvement. Still in court she was poker faced. Sentence to come.

    This poem strikes hard. There is only a coverup of guilt, never a disappearance.

    Lady Nyo

  6. What you caught here is how we translate denial into “it never happened so there’s nothign to deny” — except you have to explain the mound. And the mound remains.

    Good one.

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