“can a statue cry” by fiona

not even the dead left now in that lonely valley
the killing fields stripped of their booty
nothing left for the vultures to pick on
untouched for 40 years, the skeletons lie where they fell
ragged cloth blowing in the breeze 

He says this is part of His garden
and the day has come for Him to gather in the lilies
to bring them home
but who would venture into such a haunt?
who would dare tread where so many have been slaughtered?

the dead Christ's body still visible in the dirt
his neck snapped and bent backwards awkwardly
flesh gone, but bones still in place
testament to the truth
'what ye have done to one of the least of these 
you have done unto Me' 

will the birds ever sing again in this place?

the Gardener walks south
out of the great entrance to the graveyard
His arms laden with wreaths of lilies
symbols of death and life at one and the same time
his eyes burning hot with orange fire 

so this is all that remains
this is the remnant
the corner torn from the mantle 

can a nation be built from a remnant?
can a person be formed from a fragment?
can anything whole come from something so incomplete, 
so fractured? 

and what use is a bunch of lilies?
is their sole purpose to sit in a vase? 

the child sits in the refrigerated truck
that place assigned to her
she leans over to the man-sized statue of Jesus,
rests her head against His stony cold leg and whispers
'even if you never speak to me,
if you never smile,
if you never grow warm beside me
if you are always this man of cold cement
I will always love you 
and my heart will always thank you for searching me
out in the valley of death' 

can a statue cry?
this one has two tears 
which didn't make it half way down his cheeks before
they froze solid 	

('fiona' means white or lily)