I have found that poetry helps me in my spiritual journey. I think it does so because it keeps me and my heart OPEN when I struggle to shut down and hide my feelings. Thus, today's poem is a struggle I am having to be open and trusting God during another difficult time in my life. While some of you may call it "political," I chose to call the poem "spiritual" in the style of a lament psalm...
God bless all of you as we journey through the Christmas season and into the Epiphany and the New Year!
my daughter
is this
the last time
i will see you
as you are?
as i have known
you?
after christmas
you returned
setting your sights
on your mission
to that strange land
we’ve
bombarded
blasted and
tried to
colonize
my friend
told me of
russia’s war
there
and how
each morning
his aunt and other
mothers of moscow
would wait at
the train
station
to wail
together
knowing
somewhere among
those many caskets
was one of
their
sons
when my
daughter left
her mother
tearfully said as
we drove away
“we will never see
her again”
she will be
changed
her friends will
be injured
perhaps her
others will die
her brigade will
return in a year
but with fewer
soldiers
i cannot even think
about the
horror of
your dying
even the thought
sucks air
from my lungs
seizes
my guts
mazar-e sharif
she said
a northern city
in a country where
tribal allegiances
mean more
than
what we call
democracy
a place
we cannot understand
let alone
force to our
will
another shameful
war
for what?
for whom?
certainly not her
nor the bodies
of her comrades
Washington –
i am putting you
on notice
hear me
you’d better not
kill
my daughter
are you
listening?
i will do
more
than
wail
at a
train station
i
will bring
you
to your knees.
God bless all of you as we journey through the Christmas season and into the Epiphany and the New Year!
my daughter
is this
the last time
i will see you
as you are?
as i have known
you?
after christmas
you returned
setting your sights
on your mission
to that strange land
we’ve
bombarded
blasted and
tried to
colonize
my friend
told me of
russia’s war
there
and how
each morning
his aunt and other
mothers of moscow
would wait at
the train
station
to wail
together
knowing
somewhere among
those many caskets
was one of
their
sons
when my
daughter left
her mother
tearfully said as
we drove away
“we will never see
her again”
she will be
changed
her friends will
be injured
perhaps her
others will die
her brigade will
return in a year
but with fewer
soldiers
i cannot even think
about the
horror of
your dying
even the thought
sucks air
from my lungs
seizes
my guts
mazar-e sharif
she said
a northern city
in a country where
tribal allegiances
mean more
than
what we call
democracy
a place
we cannot understand
let alone
force to our
will
another shameful
war
for what?
for whom?
certainly not her
nor the bodies
of her comrades
Washington –
i am putting you
on notice
hear me
you’d better not
kill
my daughter
are you
listening?
i will do
more
than
wail
at a
train station
i
will bring
you
to your knees.