By James J. Siegel
-- for Sinéad
Wouldn’t we all rip the pope to pieces
if we could? Nothing compares
to his vestments drawn and quartered
on live TV like the breaking of bread,
There goes his head,
there go his hands.
And in the end what did it end?
One voice silenced for the silent
to finally speak. Truth.
Power to the powerless. Yes,
even you can tread upon
the lion and the cobra.
What has been ripped apart
will return as feathers
and under those wings you will find
James J. Siegel is a Pushcart-nominated poet and author of the poetry collections “The God of San Francisco” (Sibling Rivalry Press) and “How Ghosts Travel (Spuyten Duyvil),” which was a finalist for an Ohioana Library Award. He is the host and curator of the monthly Literary Speakeasy show at Martuni’s piano bar in San Francisco, which recently celebrated eight years. His poems have been featured in several journals and anthologies, including the Cortland Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, HIV Here & Now, Foglifter, Divining Divas: 100 Gay Men On Their Muses, and more. Instagram.