six blocks below. We sleep and wake
under a generous sky, mostly temperate.
The sound of planes has a cadence
barely heard, not like the sudden
shrill of the phone. We’re spared the growl
of killer drones while the innocent
of northern Mali have nothing but
their eyes to cry with. Around my complicit
throat I wear a necklace, pale, tiny beads
once strung by a devoted artisan
in Mali. How art has been betrayed!
Islamists hack the hands that might create,
in the name of Sharia law, rights
proclaimed by men, their ears attuned
to what pretends to be the Holy Writ.
Peggy Aylsworth's poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals throughout the U.S. and abroad, including Poetry Salzburg Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin. Her work was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize by The Medulla Review.