After the bombings it’s hard to hear
any seduction in the sound of sirens
harrowing streets sapped of traffic,
as though this weekday, fed up with its workload,
had suddenly quit to become a sabbath.
Even an upstart day of rest
must have its share of usual stabbings,
smaller states of private emergency,
the overdose here, attempted rape there,
which some of the sirens must be announcing,
or is the worst not nearly over
and this the music of final uncovering
when cruciform you, church, tree, or friend,
will fold me in your transept arms?
Stephen Cushman is a professor of English at the University of Virginia.
