The Pockmarks of War

The Pockmarks of War

(“He brings an end to wars throughout the earth. He shatters the bow and breaks the spear; he burns the shields with fire.” Psalm 46:9)

I don’t need to think about it,
I don’t need to start again. I’ve heard the cry
of victory that savors peace like an early supper.
I’ve heard the mothers begging for skirmishes
to cease. I’ve seen the pain melting from the faces
who swore to study war no more.

Throw the spears into the forge, remake them into
garden rakes. Throw the guns into the furnace, remake
them into gazebos where the only invasion is music
on summer evenings.

Heed the voices who are crying. Heed the babies
who have been dying because you had to avenge
everything that ever pained your land.

The refugees hover inside whitewashed tents,
they take cover when they hear the missiles whistle
overhead. The children know the drills too well.
I’ve watched them huddle, leaving behind every
vestige of nationality. Sadly, the vileness of violence
followed them to nowhere home.

Why do we use words like love and caress our bombs?
Why do we mutter syllables of peace and prime the fuses?
Why do we pray and send away for more munitions?
Why do we hug it out and then paint targets on people’s backs?

Do you see creation? Do you see the children’s songs?
Do you hear the sound of tomorrow? Do you hear the robin’s song?
Can you feel the beauty of lands where pockmarks of warfare
have ceased? Can you feel the daylight that opens the door
a self truer than military salutes and slogans?

Morning Brings the Next Door

Morning Brings the Next Door

Morning brings the next door to enter,
the next word to define, and the next
chance to chase the sunshine. Even then,
though,
the clouds can unframe the sky till late afternoon.
I’d sweep them away for you
to feel the solitary rays on your face and
a double rainbow defining the hillside.

I’d roll up the midnight into an hour full of
sounds only the creek can make. I’d spread it
like a carpet
while our conversation winds down. I’d send it
to you the moment it was finished. I’d preserve it
for you
for the days when the moon winks from a starless sky.

I’ve debated how to say so many things,
I’ve deleted a hundred texts that I never sent.
I’ve trusted you could read my heart, know my
hopes, and accept my softness that is better than
the brawn that too many call strength.

Let’s talk about love. Let’s let the words flow easily
like wine,
like a stream,
like the breeze rolling down the hills. Let’s talk
about tomorrow and never regret what we say today.
Let’s fill the silence with our quiet words,
with our healing hands clasped like hearts that
were meant to be as one.
Let’s talk about love. Let the rest of the world
scatter in its anxiety. Let’s be sure we say the
words we both need to hear.

Morning brings a name to me, and I will
never be the same. Grace and pain sit behind
my eyelids awakening.