Routine of Everyday War
I page through the Death album
Face after face after face
The longer the war burns
The more faces I recognize
I empty out my chest of dreams and pack it with food for the day
Tomorrow is distant and dreams can’t reside in a mind propped up by an empty stomach
I do my morning stretches with the children
As we stand in the line for water from the neighborhood tank down the road
I pour out my evening wakefulness over the edge of exhaustion
My bed becomes a temporary grave easily suitable for the long-term job
When the next missile drops on my home.
The idea flies like spittle out of my head
When the truth explodes that we all will die
Without a homeland we will all die.
