William Ward Butler

CHURCH OF ANTHRAX

Unfortunately, it only takes
one person to change history.
The FBI report states: It is highly probable,
bordering on certainty, that all three letters
were authored by the same person.
Little missives of death, microscopic
particles smaller than faith, measured
in micrometers—otherwise, imperceptible.
Bacillus anthracis runs riot in the blood,
the lungs wrung out like twisting
a wet dress so it dries. The author
uses the words “can not,”
when many people prefer to spell it
as one word, “cannot.” Investigators
never found out who sent the letters.
The closest they got was a scientist
who swore, I am not a killer at heart,
before his suicide by Tylenol.
Some myths die with their makers;
some men kill for lack of what
is found in living—you can’t
account for coincidence, but
that’s where most people find God.
I used to think everything had meaning.

WILLIAM WARD BUTLER is the poet laureate of Los Gatos, California. He is the author of the poetry chapbook Life History (Ghost City Press). A poetry reader for TriQuarterly, he is co-editor-in-chief of Frozen Sea.