Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Poem: The Sturdy Dreamers

I'm not generally one for posting poetry here. I just can't shake the connection between this poem (written in 2003) and the current viciousness. Edit: I've shortened it.

I have seen something else under the sun:

The race is not to the swift
or the battle to the strong,
nor does food come to the wise
or wealth to the brilliant
or favor to the learned;
but time and chance happen to them all.

– Ecclesiates 9:11

Are ye able, said the Master, to be crucified with me?

The Sturdy Dreamers


David waits for his lover to leave her home.
The engines of war trumpet around him.
She is barefoot in a scarlet scarf.
It will be hard not to cut herself on the breaking glass.
From a falling tent he sees a flash of red;
she flees into the rising light of the dawn.


Rahmah waits for her lover to come home.
She is riding to him in a crowd of the blind and faithless.
His is the only voice that cries for her in the night,
it is his voice that she longs for
as the soldiers march around her tower,
each step drawing them closer.
Moving among them is the sweetest child, dressed in scarlet,
with a scarf tied around her head to hide the scars.


Rahab waits for her lovers to return:
two young men, strong and clever;
she melts for them and their country.
Her hair blows in the window with the scarlet scarf
as she sits on the sill, watching the waves
of soldiers crash cymbals as they march on
the towers and walls of Jericho.

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