The Pact

A poem

All the poems made a pact
not to speak of war
not to try to capture memories
before they pulverize
not to lie awake
shuffling the alphabet
like dice in a game

The poems pressed bleeding fingertips
together in solidarity
while I was drinking lattes
and eating brunch
a world away
They swore not to tell me
another thing
about what they’d witnessed
as I’d proven useless

Until one day
a poem slipped by the others
I found a note written
on a fogged-up window
after the storm that took down
our shutters, rattled the windows
reminded us that safety
shapes our life in ways
we’ve become lazy about

The note said
Don’t believe the lies
that hiss in your head
Show me the crocus
Show me the sparkle
Show me the table for two
Show me the I love you rock
Show me how tenderly
you hand your wife a towel
after her shower
how gratefully you water
the plants, walk the yard,
hum a song, feel the sun,
read a book, answer the call

We are not angry,
she continued
Please live
Please remember
what joy is like,
where peace blooms,
and that serving a people
can be as small as serving one person,
the one across the table,
the ones across town,
and the ones whose memory
echoes through you, like wind
in an empty hallway that leads to the sea

I opened the window then
A dragonfly flitted close, then away
I heard a child’s voice, close and familiar
Then another, and another
I couldn’t cry
I couldn’t move
I remembered the first time they rose
like this, too many to name, too many
to count, too many to hold, too many
to honor, too many too many too many

Once, I thought poetry could matter

Now, I allow myself to believe
it is enough
to keep living, to keep gathering in
the movement of my people
like folds into an infinite skirt
waves that we pray will part again
just in time for the crossing

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