Charleston, Dark
By Catherine Hartnett
The June night’s heat, the insomniac beast
prowls. Call it instinct, rage, imperative;
you cannot change a tiger’s need to feast.
For him, there is no other way to live.
His hunger calls him to a sacred place
built for praise, contrition, forgiveness, prayer.
Sinners and saints in this house of hope, grace
in which God dwells. This holy place stands where
it once burned, red flames fed by hate-stoked crime.
Why does God stand by and let evil win,
let the good, the young die before their time?
The beast decrees it is their time, their skin
condemning them, the dark color of night.
Picks them off, one by one in God’s clear sight.