WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?
When you sleep, do you think of them in your dreams?
I do wonder about that. And I think it must be easier
to partner the devil than to sift through lies
that burn and scald and break the rest of us.
I pity you.
For while the rising souls of Gazan dead
find peace in martyrdom, you will face the sentence
of your own deliverer; past deeds forever rotting
in an unforgiving coffin of your inhumanity.
THIS DECENT LIFE
My pheasants have a life,
a decent life,
their thirsts satisfied
with a single swallow,
their hunger soothed
by offerings of easy kindliness.
Easy kindliness, and the knowing
that decency does not always afford
safe passage, even for a simple bird.
Her shredded body lay on the field,
a spill of fresh silage
sprinkled over her like buckshot -
a foot missing, innards laid bare
by the cut of the blades
and a freckling of feathers
peeled from their pink bones -
still warm as she was lifted.
I buried the pieces of her
in a place her friends might know,
her lost presence new to them
in the aftermath. A decent burial.
But what to say about so small a thing,
these words about a bird and not a bird
no solace to the left behind,
no succour to the suffering,
no answer to the never-ending pain of war.
very powerful and very beautiful ...
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