for Kathy Kelly on her birthday
Amman, December, 2006
At the makeshift school and community center,
Iraqi men stand straight as palm trees,
sparsely planted, self-contained.
Dusty green fronds of wordless longing unfurl
about them,
flags of defeat.
The present is a prison,
a stone cell without doors,
a barred window.
They blink and try to see vast distances,
to discern tomorrow,
a year from tomorrow,
a way beyond today.
All around them, their children, unincarcerated,
leap upon us,
climb Kathy like a fence,
pull at my arms, my legs,
twirl us like tops.
They have only their bodies to offer.
They hurl themselves against the future.
Laying their precious bodies down, head to toe,
like a bridge, like a cable across a chasm,
they reach us.
If Irony Were Justice
Blood at the Wrist
First Day in Amman
Thay Reach Us
I was the Earth
Ammar's Story
