To Remember

Ukraine and the Holy Triumvirate Dear Shelley

To Remember

anti-war protest rally in London image from wikipedia

To remember is an attempt to piece together what can never be one again. The time, the place, the scent of flesh once beating. Today marks the invasion of Iraq. It seems the rest of the world has forgotten.

The following poems appear in my book Alien to Any Skin (UST Publishing House, 2011). Should I thank GW Bush for writing them?

Just This One

Art. 33. No protected person may be punished for an offence he or she

has not personally committed. Collective penalties and likewise all measures

of intimidation or of terrorism are prohibited.

The Fourth Geneva Convention

When someone says “Think about the bigger picture,”

I hide. My life has the legs of an ant. I find the resilience

of pebbles more inviting. They smooth themselves on riverbeds,

current rushing over their backs, pushing them to cling

with other pebbles or grains of sand pounded to near nothingness.

There are so many of them, too many to count. Each one

has something the others do not possess. Perhaps the thinnest streak

of brown, the sligthest indentation, the faintest crack.

Even when they are broken they are never the same. Caress

the jagged edge of this one with your index finger. Just this one.

July 2008

-o-

The Day the Dead Tree Fell

years of fear

have come to this

roots unearthed

longer than the arms of men

pointing skyward

the drone

of foreign planes

a hollow in the ground

deep enough

for a coffin

the silence

of loaded guns

all those fine veins

where something

used to flow

November 2008 – August 2010

-o-

Questions

for the leader of invading forces

When you put your shoes on this morning,

do you remember which foot came first?

Does someone tell you when your collar gets stuck inside your shirt?

Do you let that person touch you?

What colours make your eyes stop searching?

Are those the ones you like or the ones you hate?

How many people have you met that had an extra finger

and wasn’t shy about it?

Have you ever held a firefly in your palms?

Was it warm? Were you alone?

When you close your eyes,

whose face lingers?

What was the first word you learned to write?

Did you use a pencil or a crayon or a borrowed pen?

If you had a dog, would you name it

after the person who blew up your house?

Is there something on my forehead

that only you can read?

Can you tell if someone is lying

or just scared?

Will my name be on a piece of paper?

Spelled correctly?

August 2008

-o-

Going Retro: The Victorious Army of Gobbledygooks Penetrates the City

“Why do they hate us? We’re setting them free!”

A foot soldier

They were expecting

sweaty hugs and kisses

from dark veiled women

and their adoring children.

Ears cocked, they anticipated the struggle

of the local band in playing

their beloved anthem,

as if it were not foreign.

But only hollow,

sporadic shouting of men

who gathered from nowhere

welcomed the forces.

The army was laden

with a quick,

calculated victory,

craving for popular jubilation.

Instead, this caricature of a show

put on by these nowhere men.

Stick figures in the desert sun,

sure of only one thing:

Tear down the giant statue

designed originally

by a previous generation

of gobbledygooks.

This show had been triangulated

for the world to see

moment by breathless moment

on their most trusted TV.

And then what? An awkward silence

as the statue grates to a stop,

refusing to crash down. A monologue broken

by coughing in the background, off camera.

Days later when the local population

finally came out with their voices raised,

the victorious gobbledygooks felt

strangely welcome, unable to decipher

Joy and ecstasy from utter hatred.

It is only now with proper translation

years later that we have

a clear understanding of gang rape.

December 2008

-o-