I hadn’t planned to write a post tonight, but when I got home from work this evening, the first thing my husband said to me was, “There was an explosion in Afghanistan today, and soldiers died … and nobody cares.”
“You care.” I replied.
He said, “So do you.”
I immediately thought of a poem I wrote many years ago, on the first night of bombings in Kuwait, against Iraq.
I knew some writing was in order again tonight. I went to my bookshelf and took out the 5 x 7 fabric board notebook that my mother gave me when I was a girl. The front page still has her handwriting: “Jane’s Poetry and Prose Notebook.” I shuffled through the pages until I found the poem. It was dated January 16, 1991, almost 20 years ago.
I stood in front of the television that January night, watching as flashes shot across the sky and as bombs exploded, one after another, after another. Disbelief. Reports said that it went well … the night was a success, only one pilot was killed.
My own son, then only four years old, slept peacefully in the next room. Through my tears, I wrote this poem, and showed it to my mother the next day. I didn’t understand … I don’t understand … how “one pilot killed” could have been considered a successful night.
Societies become numb to war. Pictures, videos, and news reports become too painful to really internalize, so we protect ourselves as best we can. We can, truly, only take so much.
So, here’s my poem, unedited, from 20 years ago. It sounds very much like my husband’s tender words from tonight. (Thank you, Frank.) My hope is that you’ll do something positive with them. Start a conversation, write a poem, talk to your children.
My skies are blue, the sun is shining.
One night of bombing. It went very well.
One mother praying,
One pilot killed.
One heaven to look to.
Success in the Gulf.
More days ahead, few or many.
Scud missile hits.
One mother praying,
One pilot killed.
A dear old friend of mine, she’s around 90 years old now, used to tell of her brother standing on the front porch and pretending to preach. “This old world ain’t got no sense!” he would shout. She told me that story over and over. When the world wasn’t making sense to her she’d say it, and laugh about ‘Brother Joe’.
Sometimes it seems this old world ain’t got no sense. We have to do the best we can with it. Spread some love, and let someone know that you care. Teach peace and make this old world a better place.
Take good care …
Awesome snapshots of love by Jesse Gardner, Amor Ministries, Caitlinator, and Mangus Franklin!
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