From The River to The Sea
born in a city hundreds of thousands of miles from the city I was born in,
there is pain in his voice, suffering in his eyes, anxiety in the slight shake of his voice,
but he smiles with the kindness of a child who has never known hurt.
Our conversation is short,
on the irony of the promise that the world never let there be another Holocaust,
and all the atrocities that followed that promise.
on the pattern of this retched country, we stand in,
to promise justice to the suffering,
and to rip that justice from the hands of those suffering.
like his legs aren't shaking,
stood against a tide of out of sight, out of mind.
We speak the atrocities we've heard of into life,
making the deaths of all those children undoable,
making the crumbling buildings fall,
making the sound of the carpet bombings and the screaming mothers audible,
making the body bags in the ice cream trucks a fact.
We stand, on a cold, October afternoon,
making the genocide impossible to ignore,
as we call out the politicians,
whose hands drip with the blood of the exploited.
People who know us pass by,
now they can't pretend it isn't happening,
now they have to confront the reality they inhabit,
that none of us are free until all of us are free.