January 17, 1991: this endless war

91

January 17, 1991

The day after war begins I
reach to hold, be held
beneath the crescent sliver of waxing snow moon
I feel your chest press   retreat   as we embrace
silken hair weaves through finger-
tips. Men and women die
in a city no longer theirs   no longer
home. Your arms wrap me
as water holds wreathes
and Iraq retaliates,
missiles strike Jerusalem,
ten year old girl cries within the brown
mantis face of her gas mask.
Pressed peach of our cheeks
parts my lips near the tenderness of your neck—
I want to feel
your breath on my tongue
your tongue as I breathe.
And what of those in Baghdad
no warning?

Thank you to the editors of We Speak for Peace and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for first and then reprinting this poem, respectively.

http://lit.carayanpress.com/eweaver.html

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