I am driving in my car,

Down streets that cut

Across the throats of one another,

And I am listening to the news radio,

Talk about the transition in Afghanistan,

Or what will happen,

When we leave, and

I think about words,

Like drawdown and withdrawal

And how the war is still not over,

Or how I come around a corner,

And see my house lit up like a car

On fire on the side of a road,

In another country where bombs go off,

But this is America,

And my husband is inside, our two sons,

Sleeping in our sleeping American town,

And I know better.

Because last night was really today in Afghanistan,

The sun already rising in Kabul,

A new day, or just another one,

Another day of war, and

Because last night in Afghanistan,

Or today in America marks the day

That begins the thirteenth year of the war,

The one that our soldiers are still fighting,

Still coming home, or dying there instead,

The one that made the war zone,

That Afghan men and women and children

Must live in, now, every single day,

And the one that is just another one,

Another war,

In a long line of wars,

That link together to form decades

In war torn Afghanistan,

And I am pulling into my driveway now,

My headlights moving across the bushes

Standing watch near our front door,

Bushes that my husband planted,

When he came home, came home

From war, and I will turn the key

Out of my ignition, and I will turn

The knob of our front door, and

I will turn the lights on and then

Off, in a kitchen, in a hallway, or

In our bedroom, where my husband

Will sit up, and turn to me, saying why,

But first I turn off the radio in this car,

Turn it off, the news, in this darkness,

And turn off the war,

The one, the one they say is almost over.

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