Dinner with Wade Michael Page


Dinner With The Gunman


I invite you to my dinner table

Join me, will you?

I’d like to sit next to you.

I’d like to understand.

Put you on the operating table too

Pick at your brain

My sister a surgeon

I want to understand the wiring,

The thought, the impulse.

Time of death August 5th

What was your last thought before you fell into a pool of bleeding red?

And what did you eat that morning,

Your last meal or favorite food?

Sitting next to you at my dinner table

You hold me at gunpoint.

Let’s eat

A feast always follows bloodshed.

Is it my turban

My beautiful shiny scarf

My long plaited hair

My smile?

A little boy wearing a gun

It was fun to play fight, kill spectacles in thin air.

A soldier, valiant and brave

You pick up a gun


Russian roulette

I know you.

You wake up

look in the mirror to touch your skin.

I see you.

Hiding behind white




Sweet Sunday morning

My call to prayer

When did you learn to betray me?

Congregation swells

Seekers, believers

Who taught you this?

Did you plant these seeds or did I?

I open my mouth

You pull the trigger again

Ripples explode

Splitting me in half

The victim is you.



* PTSD  –  Post-traumatic Stress Disorder


Originally published on SikhChic on August 11, 2012

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