Ring of Moss
I don’t know how
to write about war
When my feet walk softly
On fallen leaves, pine needles
Not fallen bodies, shards of shrapnel
When my eyes glance
To ring of moss
encircling baby mushrooms
Not barb wired surrounding
1 million Palestinian children
I don’t know how
to write about war
When I walk with my friend & my dog
In the foggy forest on Tuesday
All of us hydrated, fed, bathed, slept
Yet I do know how to listen
To listen to my mama friend
speak of her anguish, her primal fear
Of not being able to feed, to nourish
Her manboy as any money she gives
Goes to feeding his addiction
And she doesn’t know
of his hydration, or feeding or bathing
or where or if he slept last night
or as she awaits his trial
if he will be locked up behind bars
for the foreseeable future
I do know how to listen and walk with her anguish,
to stand with her in the rain and
cup her face like I would my own child
I don’t know how
to write about war
When I talk with my friend over a white
table-clothed table outside on a Tuesday,
with an abundance of water&wine, brussels sprouts,
kale & quinoa, figs & blue cheese, cod fish & lentils
Yet I do know how to listen
To listen to my jewish friend
Speak of agony & ambiguity of safety
Of the state of Israel
The need to feel safe, secure, respected
And as a gay jewish man in US
That hasn’t always been here for him
around every corner,
as he wasn’t able to marry
his beloved for more than 20 years
I do know how when i finally,
legally could officiate his wedding
As we spoke of love is love is love
And hate will never drive out hate
A rush of wind came through the trees
Quieting everything, and the mystical delight
alchemized all the years of waiting
I don’t know how
to write about war
When my feet walk softly
On fallen leaves, pine needles
Not fallen bodies, shards of shrapnel
When my eyes glance
To ring of moss encircling baby mushrooms
Not an underground dank entrapment
Of 200? Israel hostages
And I feel safe, and fed and loved
Yet anguished & enraged & alone
I don’t know how
to write about war
Yet I know the anguish of not being able to feed, nourish my own child
I know the panic of having to evacuate my family from our home with imminent threat of forest fire
I know the childhood fear of bombs dropping as I wrote home a letter to my parents from summer camp in 1978 how Much fun I was having at the lake, with the archery and field games of capture the flag, as I slipped in the sentence
“I hope they don’t drop the bombs”
between I love the arts & crafts & night time campfires
I know the horror of the frontlines of gun violence in the inner city emergency department as I desperately tried to save lives of young men full of bullet holes, bleeding down upon my nursing clogs
And
I know the ultimate despair
Of holding my child as she died
I don’t know how
to write about war
Yet I know as we all certainly do
what it is to be human
in a world of uncertainty
I know both the desperation& the delight
On any given Tuesday…
AND
On any given Tuesday
Whether it is written about or not
there is a war happening somewhere
Even when hate will never drive out hate
May we stand then in the rain
and cup the face of hate
like we would our own child
May we walk together
with what it means to be human—
The war within ourselves
Both the despair & delight
May we hold hands with our neighbors
Knowing that our lives,
like a ring of moss, are
Both vulnerable & endurable
May we pray for peace 💫
