What do you want of us, we give you blood
Over satire, our crimson heartbeats are
Bawling bassoons, our lungs pant like faulty
Bellows and our ink hands are stained with a
Weeping prophet in a globe of matches,
Tinder sticks that light with everybody
Talking at once and then stillness… Are our
Names being called in the Parisian streets?
Georges, Stephane, Bernard, Jean. Pages ripped,
All the sea sick books burnt for their own good,
Should auld acquaintance be forgot je suis
Charlie. The bells of Notre Dame will sound,
Flags will fly like a firefly because of
A pen’s power to disrupt the mouse hole.

Grant Tarbard is the editor of The Screech Owl and co-founder of Resurgant Press. His first collection Yellow Wolf is out now from WK Press.