Wednesday, December 16, 2015 … O pioid antiphon

Hark, the heroin epidemic sings,
the sad song of dry mouth
of heavy legs and short breath,
the inability to decide.

Hark the heroin epidemic brings
death and loss on broken wings.

Hark new herod private jails
making it a war
on young black men.
Hark the terrible census
of the suburbs
to oxycodone and codeine,
to hydrocodone and morphine,

and slaying all —
the fentanyl of the innocents.

Here are the candles litblue christmas
for all ages
in the blue christmas service;

here is the modern manger
where addicted marys
lay their babies down;
here are the overdosed children
no one can reach in time.

Come, Nightsung of Peace,
Hailed Sun of life —
risen with naxolene,
with medical rehabilitation,
with simple truth in twelve steps,
in your wings.

Let this be the season
that you come,
beyond the death-rush of glory
to raise your children of earth
to give them second birth —
not just a nasal spray
in respiratory depression,
but a breath of hope.

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3 Responses to Wednesday, December 16, 2015 … O pioid antiphon

  1. rezrevres says:

    Lamentably, all too true! Thanks Maren

  2. This is such an important poem, I think you should send it to the Boston Globe. And it took courage to publish this in Advent, when no one wants to hear about sad things. Bravo!

  3. Timothy Harbert says:

    Maren: Nothin’ I can say better. Thank You!

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