The house is growing
Dark
When I drive up
Our driveway and sit
In my car, this night
Spreading
Out around me, and
I can see
The house and
My husband who
Is standing near
The window,
Pulling the curtain
Closed,
Or how the shadow
Of him is moving,
Moving across the room,
Where he is shutting off
Lights
Before coming to the front
Door and waiting for me,
Waiting for me to come
Inside
And tell him yes,
Because he wants to go
Again,
Go away to Somalia or
Kenya,
The Horn of Africa,
To help he says, or
How I said no.
And I am standing
On this front step,
Facing him,
And I do not have to turn
Around to know,
Know that this is what night
Looks like after it has fallen,
Or that I will not change
My mind,
Because,
Because he has already gone
To war,
Because, in Kabul,
A woman was stoned to death,
How the men dragged her body
Down to the bed of a river and
Lit it on fire,
While people watched and
Because the Horn of Africa
Feels like more,
More war,
More violence,
More terror,
More people gunned down,
Armed militia and tanks and
Men and women and children
Dying,
And we are here, moving
Through this house, this
Conversation again, how
We are here,
Standing in this hallway
Again,
How this hallway is the
Artery of our house, how
It runs down the center
Of the house and us and
I am saying more,
How it feels like
More of a chance
He will go over there and
Die this time,
Or how we hear our son
Moving,
Moving in the other room,
In this darkness, and I turn
To my husband,
Saying your turn,
How it is his turn
This time,
And this is the part
Where my husband
Will go,
Lay next to him,
Our son,
Who
Thinks about words
He cannot say, or
How my husband
Is whispering,
Whispering to him
Whispering the words
Love and
You and
Our son,
Who is five years old,
Reaches his hand out
To touch his father’s
Face,
Saying yes,
And the word,
His word yes,
Is a note, this
Unexpected note,
A whole note,
That hangs in the air,
And I am on the other
Side of a wall,
Lying in our bed,
Imagining a horn,
Metal and gold
Colored and brass
With a bell on one
End,
That flowers,
Open,
Or how there are
Buttons, buttons
But no sound,
No noise,
No fingers,
No wrist or
Arm,
Or how the body
Of the horn curves
Like my body or
The body of country
And how the Horn of Africa
Is a group of countries and
How the land flares out,
There, shaped like a horn,
And how I know that
A country can be like
This,
A beautiful instrument
I do not know how to play.
Excellent, really emotive in so many ways. It resonates deep within the soul. Thanks for sharing