Absence
How many went missing? Most.
One way or another. We have talked
of that time but who wants to try and
imagine the reality? It lives as
an absence; not spoken of, not even
known of. An unfillable hole.
There were many holes then
and they were filled,
with the multiplying dead.
Mass graves, everyone slung in together.
Let God sort it out. He chose
to do nothing about what was killing them,
so it’s His problem.
The thought no one dared to entertain,
so I will entertain it for them.
Outside, it is raining. A bit.
- © Jim Conwell 2023
Jim Conwell’s background is London Irish and the themes of exile and dislocation are strong in his work. He is published widely in magazines and in three anthologies. He has had two poems shortlisted in the Bridport Poetry Prize and was recently longlisted for the Brian Dempsey Memorial Pamphlet Competition.
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