the horror

Here they come.
Crying from the womb
from the breast
out of swaddling cloths
up from their bed their
potty chair high chair
the table from their
mother's hip from their
father's arms out of their
door yard out through the
gate out of the
rubble up from the river
out of black rain out
from the vapor crying
the light. It is August
the sweet potatoes ripen
under grass in the fields.
It is morning, they come
suffering unto the Christians
and the Christians say No!
Thou shalt not.
No matter what.

Tom Koontz
The Flying Island 1995