Yesterday at the vigil/rally for Palestine, one of our wedding guests and dear friends said that the love Jim and I have for each other, the love he has for me and I have for him, expands and touches and heals all of them, everyone around us... and I am/we are so lucky, so...
After a grueling exercise in wrenching sobbing pain
I realize that Marx was right
it is the property within our midst
that poisons all; my oldest son stopped walking
after the birth of his first brother.
He never learned to share, he had to be the sole
inheritor and son. My heart has room
for sons and daughters of the body and the soul,
and there are larger problems we must learn
to bear. I am myself a torture victim,
but most of all I am a warrior, ready to battle
but most ready to be love, to heal and to forgive.
I started this long story many lives ago,
and it is time to put the weapons down
and turn the swords to ploughshares.
We must imagine such a planet as the one I dream of;
one with no labels, no requirements, no ready-made
classifications that will make you fit
for this or that. I will survive to sing
another day, to love, to show that love
no quarrel shows.
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