Here,
Last dove chasing a
fleeing moment of peace
My sister flies half-way
across the country
To hold on to a fleeting
future, to a man who is only a friend
Hoping they will have a
chance to find out if he will ever be more
If he ever comes back
from the war that just called his name.
No passionate good-byes,
as the smallpox shot
Already shrouds his body
in a contagious hands-off.
No passionate good-byes,
as he walks into shadows
Where there can be no
promises of any tomorrows.
Here,
My friend, heavy with
child,
Does not ask if her
children’s father will be called away,
Just stays safely tucked
away, feet and thoughts firmly grounded,
Holding on to the present
safety of a woman with her man by her side,
His baby growing in her
belly, their children, laughing at his knee.
Here,
I too remember
Another man of the
military
Listening to him talk
about learning to how to use a beating stick
To keep Haitian refugees
quiet in Guantanamo Bay
Doing his duty to his
country. How my heart broke
Crying for what his hands
must have done,
Crying for what his eyes must
have seen,
Wondering how his soul
could bear
His pain, wondering how
one could
Heal his pain, hoping he
would never
Go too far, where one
could no longer
Reach him.
Here,
We are all women from war
country
Facing down the violence
in our men’s eyes
Facing down the violence
in our men’s hands
Fighting for peace, at
home
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