Brooklyn, Baghdad, March 2003

My eyes cast down
Where two bees crawled along the rail
Trying to shake the rain
to fly again.
I wandered in an instant
From the bridge, high
Toward Central Park West
and drank... straight from the sky.

A half a world away a lone F-16
rolls into a gentle dive
and a bunker erupts in thunder
Echoing across the ancient metropolis
Drowning the calls to prayer
With the unmistakable call to war
And that, unheeded, to surrender

The west rolls into these river valleys
Where some say agrarian life began
Uncertain what the future will bring
But for Saddam, Uday, Usay
Little but destruction
Though that, itself, is nothing new.

I stand and breathe deep
As the cloudburst sun dries fragile wings
Bringing the air again ever closer.
It's good to be... alive
good to be in Brooklyn today
This rag-and-bone shop of my heart.
I'm here to learn to Fly
...or perhaps you could say, to fly again.




another poem

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