The birthday of the world By Marge Piercy On I begin to contemplate what have done and left undone but this year not so much rebuilding my perennially damaged psyche shoring up eroding friendships digging out stumps old resentments that refuse rot on their own. No want call myself task for peace. How dared in opposition? put line freedom? For mine others? As these freedoms are pared sliced diced where spoken out? Who tried move? In holy season stand self-convicted sloth a time when lies choke mind rhetoric bends reason slithering choking pythons. Here before gates opening fire dazzling eyes as approach judges me judge myself. Give me weapons minute destruction. Let words turn into sparks.