WAR

I know we are at war;

ugly as frogs, graceful as angels,

we don’t seem to hear a choice.

The price for no is high

but the price for yes is even higher;

we don’t want to wander into either.

Anger and despair, shame and fear

fuel our steps and fill them with

the hum of some other response.

I arrive at the mountain in the morning

with a song so fresh and new;

how can I make you hear its will to live?

War surrounds us,

it’s the sound we wake to;

it’s our only lullaby.

Our mother says God made

a woman’s blood thick and sticky,

so she would be sure to remember.

Our sister sings a song of pain;

she tells us to forget about it, but

wants us to find the harmony.

Our brother follows the beat of a drum

and dreams of a glistening glory;

he’ll hear nothing of defeat.

Our father walks the beast of drums,

destined to devour our children,

drink their screams and feed on yours.

Our heroes get their throats slit;
our sheroes embrace equally

lonely explosives, fatherless children.

The melody is older than our ancestors,

skittish and unpredictable, we’re like April snow;

the words we’ll add we don’t yet know.