Sunday, June 20, 2010


My grandson, Josh~I wrote this as one grandmother to another.

Sister Refugee,
your hopeless tear-streaked face
looks out at me from my tv screen
and I recognize how easily
it might have been reversed,
I finding myself
sitting in your place.

It could so easily be me instead of you
huddled on that muddy hillside in the rain,
looking so tired and old,
so resigned and full of pain,
cradling a sleepy grandchild
against the bitter cold.

What do we know or care of politics?
Our lives are about love,
and keeping children safe.

We walk the same earth,
share the sky above,
that yours rains bombs and mine rains tears
a trick of fate
that could just as easily reverse
this time next year.

Your eyes meet mine across the miles
with bitter dread.
In the midst of all this folly
how do we keep the children fed?
How nurture the future,
how hang on to hope,
when life hangs suspended
by such a fragile thread?

We both agree
that this is not The Way,
are helpless but to endure,
having no say,
until the tide can turn
and turn once more,
tossing us up
upon a kinder shore.

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