Monday, September 28, 2015
Friday, September 25, 2015
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think “Do I know any Davids in Gaza?”
They call us now to say
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of
war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
I wish I had seen this in completion, before the chalk had faded, reducing the baby to a ghost.
These sidewalk chalk pieces are ephemeral. Even moreso than other street art media, he artists know before they begin that the decay sets in before they even finish.
I wonder how many mobile phone jockeys will be shaken from their optical-umbilical connections and shaken by this image before it disappears entirely.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
It is said that he has a reason for everything. Unless he admits that the reason is that he too is powerless over random, horrible shit and that he is sorry he couldn't do more, then I really don't want to know. I refuse to believe there is any reason, good or bad, for stuff like this. If there is a. Ding or entity making shit like childhood cancer, tsunamis and car accidents happen, then he is a dick. You can keep him.
Color me angry. What does your God want from us? Think about that for a spell.