This is a New Poem written at the end of the Covid apocalypse:
News of the World
January 15, 2022, in the ancient country
of Ceylon—called Sri Lanka today—
a mother goat gave birth while stranded
in a blizzard on the side of a mountain.
A child from the nearby village carried
this goat up and over that mountain
on her tiny back. Leaning into the scream
of a tortured wind, she fought her legs
to take each step. Face blistered and numb
the child could not see, but only feel
the slow shadow of death descending
from a ceiling of low hanging clouds.
If a minute is forever to a man on fire
how long were the hours she struggled
with her assertion of worth in every life?
The family dog, frost-covered, followed
faithfully wobbling on all four legs as it
carried the baby kid home the same way.
In the “civilized” world of the U.S.A.
—state of Texas and free land of plenty—
on this same day, a mother annoyed
with her nuisance of a newly born and crying
baby beat the thing to death and then threw
its lifeless form in the nearest garbage dump.
The weather was perfect.
Published by jimmcgarrah
Every single person on this planet is unique in many ways and yet, most people consider themselves normal (i.e. conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected). This dichotomy is how good writing works. It contains uniqueness in the characters or narrator and a normal progression of ideas in themes. Thus, a story will be appealing if it has unique specificity in a normalized world of some kind and that creates a universal connection between writer and reader. This symbiotic connection as an oxymoron, normal uniqueness, has always fascinated me, not only on the page but more importantly, in life. Over the past twenty years I have written a dozen books. None have made me famous or rich, but I am proud of the work. It has been published by respectable literary and university presses. My editors have been talented and conscientious and brought the best of what I do to the page. But publishing is not all of my writing life. I have long wanted a private space where I could more fully express this exploration between individuality and society normalcy without regard to the business of writing, the correction of images, the political implication of phrases, and while considering there might be an audience to some of what is written, not worrying about whether it would sell. Therefore, I give you my very first and likely last, public blog. It will explore whatever I feel like exploring at a given time in whatever form I choose—maybe a poem, maybe an essay, maybe a story, or possibly a simple “fuck you” to the world. Read at your own peril and comment whenever you want. I encourage dialogue as a learning tool for writer and reader alike. I do not expect agreement with all my ideas. That would eliminate the entire uniqueness side of my inquiry. This is a free space for us all.
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Jim McGarrah, Author 
Maybe the TX woman was afraid her baby would have classroom instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity and CRT.
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Jim, I’m stunned, and there’s a burning in my chest and in my eyes. You’ve struck my heart with a white-hot knife.
Humanity is and is not.
I pray the “is” will overcome the “is not.”
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Deep… graphic… to the point! It was shocking, but I liked it.
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