|Victims of Drones|
I am horrified by the Zimmerman verdict. I am equally confounded not by President Obama’s response to the verdict, which I welcomed, but his myopic generosity of spirit and public policy that fails to allow him to see himself also in the children killed by
drones. It is time that we connect the
dots and rise into a quality of action that validates and protects all life.
I share with you a poem entitled Drone by Solmaz Sharif.
By Solmaz Sharif
Let this be the Body
through which the War has passed.
somewhere I did not learn • somewhere I wouldn’t hear • the FBI has my cousins’ computers • my father says • my father says • my mother has a hard time believing anything’s bugged • my father and I always talk like the world listens • my father is still on the bus with contraband papers under his seat as uniforms storm down the aisle • it was my job to put a cross on each home with dead for clearing • it was my job to dig graves into the soccer field • I wrote • I wrote • • I wrote • • I wrote their epitaphs in chalk • from my son’s wedding mattress I know this mound’s his room • I dropped to a knee and engaged the enemy • I emptied my clip then finished the job • I took two steps in and threw a grenade • I took no more than two steps into a room before firing • in Haditha we cleared homes Fallujah-style • my father was reading the Koran when they shot him through the chest • they fired into the closet • the kitchen • the ninety-year-old standing over the stove • just where was I • • • call me when you get home • let’s miss an appointment together • let’s miss another flight to repeated strip searches • that Haditha bed • magenta queen sheets and a wood-shelved headboard and blood splattered up the walls to the ceiling • they held each other • they slept on opposing ends wishing one would leave • mother doesn’t know who I am anymore • I write • I write • • they ask if I have anything to declare then limit my response to fruits and nuts • an American interrupts an A and B conversation to tell me • he strikes me as a misstep away from • what did you expect after fishing Popov from a trash bin • what did you expect after accepting a marbled palace • they drag the man who killed my uncle out of a hole • they inspect him for ticks on national television • no one in my family celebrates • when the FBI knocks I tell them ; they get a kick out of that • she just lay there and took it like a champ • she was dying for it • at a protest a man sells a shirt that says • my mother tape-records my laugh to mail bubble-wrapped back home • my mother records me singing • I am singing the moon will come one night and take me away sidestreet by sidestreet • sitting on a pilled suburban carpet or picking blue felt off the hand-me-down couch • the displaced whatnots • I practice the work of worms • how much I can wear away with no one watching • two generations ago my blood moved through borders according to grazing and seasons • then a lifeline of planes • planes fly so close to my head filled with bomblets and disappeared men • scaffolding sprouts nooses sagging with my dead • I burn my finger on the broiler and smell trenches • my uncle pissing himself • shopping bags are legs • there is half a head in the gutter • I say when I place a call • somewhere a file details my sexual habits • some tribunal may read it all back to me • Golsorkhi, I know the cell they will put me in • they put me onto a crooked pile of others to rot • is this what happens to a brain born into war • a city of broken teeth • the thuds of falling • we have learned to sing a child calm in a bomb shelter • I am singing to her still