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The Recaller. The Reckoner. The Effacer of Sins. The Witness.

By Christi Kramer

Knowing the tribal leader loved people who fear God and received
          priests graciously
                                                                             whatever time they called,

the president had bombs sewn into the clothes of two priests.
                                              The priests went about their day, unaware.

The president’s secret service, counting on traditional seating order:
          priest, leader, priest,
sat across the street and, with fat thumbs, detonated the flax, never-
         dirtied robes.


Only the tea man got in the way, stepped in between.
              Glass, gold flecked glass, coal, fractured sugar cube, sliver of
       gold spoon, bird from
the pattern on the rug set loose, prayer beads unstrung, heart, morsel
    of date, no sound,
a window, a window, stream of cascading tea—bent bowing, light.
Silver serving tray rolled away.
Added: Monday, July 28, 2014  /  From I Go to the Ruined Place (Lost Horse Press 2009). Used by permission.