An open door
Fuzzy bear in hand,
He wanders out
His sister once went there
He remembers her face
Dimpled, laughing, framed with grace,
Her mane flowing in joy
Arms embrace
Vibrant garden flowers.
Now he scrambles
Over concrete and cobbles –
fruits of mendacious power –
o see her laughing again
Bear still clutched tightly
Against his tattered shirt
Eyes scanning
Defiled land
Blossoms face down
In ashes and dirt.
Little he hears
Amidst the stench and rumble
Nor would understandThe distant chorus –
Humanity downside up –
Chanting vengeance and profit:
Talking heads
buried in sand
Braying strategy
Belying hegemony
Leveraging lives
For ideology
All he knows
Beloved Sister asleep
Hair woven
With Flowers
He lays Bear beside
Her company
To keep.
— Peter Warner
Dedicated to the Palestinians
This article appears in ‘Everybody’s Gotta Bring Their Skills’.
