Six Thousand Prayers
In another solar system, there’s an unknown
family burying one of its children,
in a ritual of sky-like halftones
we can only imagine. And the end
of their light, their sorrow, only reaches
us after their grieving has already
taken place, a star of prayers among the speechless
dying six thousand they say we can see
with our naked eye. And even the parents
dead before they could plead with us that their
child deserved a life, already their words
nothing but the soft bleeding dust of red
hydrogen, their fear not even creasing
our rituals of despair, our blue atmosphere.
Barry Ballard received his M.A. from Texas Christian University in 1983. A widely published poet, he has a strong preference for writing contemporary sonnets. His first collection, Green Tombs to Jupiter (2000), won the 1999 Snail’s Pace Press Award for Poetry.
Barry Ballard’s poetry has most recently appeared in Prairie Schooner, The Connecticut Review, The Apalachee Review, and Puerto del Sol. His most recent collection is Plowing To The End of the Road (Finishing Line Press, and nominated for the Pushcart Prize). He writes from Burleson, Texas.