By Kanani Fong
For Chester Aaron, For Berlie & Sam, and all my friends --who have seen and lived in war.
I was going to write a war poem today,
but I took my son bowling instead.
He struck six pins,
picked up the last four with a spare.
One push of a button,
the target reset.
I thought of writing a war poem today.
but I drove my daughter to the store
to buy a pink tutu, matching slippers,
a wand with streamers and a crown.
Like a fairy, she waved at some war
protesters on the way home.
I started to write a war poem today,
but I made alphabet soup instead.
Letters roiled to the surface
to spell "missiles" and "death."
I grabbed an old spoon
and stirred down the words.
I stopped writing a war poem today
to spin a globe, touch the world
with my fingers and whisper prayers.
Then, at a table set for three,
I sat with my children over hot steaming bowls
and swallowed the language of war.
2003
Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
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