It was nothing. A dream is nothing.
I refuse to discuss it – we
Dissect too much.
It was nothing. One war is nothing.
If it led to another
That’s what wars are for.
It was nothing. A life is nothing.
We all have a touch of it,
A fine, a very slick fixative – no more.
It was nothing. Death is nothing.
Places are vacated, are
Filled-in quicker than the open crypt.
Nothing is nothing until someone
Signs its truth.
Find it between the ears…
The burned-out eyes… the shovel
Of earth wedged
In its mouth.
Of mixed ancestry, Stefanie Bennett [Italian/Irish/Paugussett-Shawnee]
has published several books of poetry, a novel & a libretto & worked
with ‘No Nukes: Arts Action For Peace’.