poetry book

[A big strong fireman]

Kipling ahoy!

[drodro]

This is my own poem, inspired by a friend I lost touch with.

Six men were on the ground,
shot in the back for being
from Srebrenica.

What would my thoughts be of?
The smell of earth, pressed against my face?

He came to our middle school from the
Yugoslavian embassy.
And before Veljko
learned English we would signal
each other by circling our noses
with finger and thumb, eyes dancing.

What have his fingers circled since?
A stone in the dirt, as he burrowed in fear?
Or the trigger
of a gun?

[enya]

Dro, that's a very sad but deep poem.

[drodro]

Thank you, enya! I felt a little... exposed? after posting it. So you made me feel less silly about it.

[A big strong fireman]

I thought you might feel a little vulnerable after posting that poem--a moving tribute to your friend, by the way--and I kept meaning to say something, figuring that the lack of response would just add to your unease. Apologies.

[enya]

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There was nothing to feel silly about but I can certainly understand that you felt exposed. Sometimes a lack of response means the reader is too moved to make an appropiate comment that doesn't sound trite. Your poem reminded me of some of the people I've met over the years; a Russian Jew who immigrated to the US during WW II, a Korean statistician I worked with, a Bosnian who fought to defend his life and his family and a very close friend in the US Army stationed in Bosnia as a UN Peacekeeper.

Reflection is good for the soul.