Borderline

We concentrate
on words;
thin reflective
blankets to contain
cold nights that keep
hot and weary days
separated.

Camped out
on the borders ennumerated by our declaration,
we speak into the void to bring forth laws
and give them teeth.
For our own children, this command:
 brush before bed.

"How many more children have to die before we care enough to do anything about it?"

But people do care. Deeply care. And that's what makes it so complicated. Some of us want to protect our children with gun control, and some of us want to protect our children with guns. Either way, we cannot bear the thought of standing by and doing nothing while children die.

The other day, I read a passionate plea by a vaccine advocate. "If you knew what it was like to lose a child, you'd understand."

Her words echoed those of the most passionate vaccine critics. "If you knew what it was like to watch your child die..."

"If you knew..."

"If only you knew..."

"I wish you knew..."

And just like that, dialogue gives way to death wishes, even threats.

"I hope your child dies..."

As a society, we have important decisions to make about guns, vaccines, and a host of other issues. What we do matters, because if we choose wrongly, innocent children will die, regardless of our intentions.

We have to care. Deeply care.

But can we learn to care without violence?

Put

her

away

quietly.

Slowly back into

her tent. Do not look. Pull the wool

gently over her senseless body, then tip-toe

out. Damp ground strewn with purity's

debris spreads beneath

the rainbow.

Promise:

no

more.

“We must love each other, respect each other and cherish our history and our future together.” 
          --Donald J. Trump, August 12, 2017


These histories we cannot cherish--don't
forget. You have to hoist Anchises and
his statues onto your aching shoulders. You won't
exactly leave the flames; this burning land
churns inside your flesh. You will ignite
it everywhere you go, with torches raised
to carry on and on, with faces white
and trembling--unless
you break the rhythm
like old estate sale china,
sweep up the pieces before the neighbor
kids get hurt, and maybe dare
to write something new.

We've

left

Egypt:

pungent roots

and goads. We still sweat,

And the salt now tastes like freedom,

streaming down our sunburned backs in gleaming stripes, but thirst

keeps our eyes on the pyramids.

We've learned denial

is more than

a state

of

mind.

Unravel in the quiet underneath
the earth's plush blanket, nestled in the soil.
Let go. Unclench your fingers and your teeth,
and let the rain unwind this mortal coil.
Peel away the husk, unleash the germ,
in silence sweet as dying, dark as sleep,
waiting through the full unspoken term;
you must entrust to spring what you would keep.

You

are

at war.

Remember

that the battle lines

are within you: shifting, pulsing,

churning through your veins. You cannot do this on your own.

Allies are everywhere, thank God,

and you must find them.

This is all

the hope

there

is.