When I turn on the morning news
or listen to the radio in my car,
I pray not to hear the black blot
of another beheading or rape,
hundreds executed in mass graves,
survivors squirming beneath the dead.
I pray not to see the face
of a nine year-old boy balancing
an automatic weapon around his neck.
I pray for the news to be good.
I pray. I don’t know what else to do.