December 12th, 2011




The year turns in the dark. Midnight will strike
and bitter is the chill; deep in our bones
is bitter colder anger. On our phones
we type out messages no one will like

'they clubbed us down' 'Raided, took her away'
'we cannot find him' 'helicopters flew
far out to sea'. We watch the things they do
and murmur - Do them in the light of day

no shame, and they forget the seasons turn
and spring is coming. We will shout aloud.
They break us one by one, but in a crowd
we'll stand. One day their mansion blocks will burn

and we will warm our hands, see by the light
of flames. Mourn, organize, assemble, fight.



She was no traitor, but she liked the boy
and then his love, her master. Saw the way
they touched each other's hair, and day by day
grew comfortable there, so near to Troy,

so far their tent from war, although each night
she scrubbed blood from his tunic, bathed the sweat
of war from him. His captive, slave or pet,
unclear. In bed, both men would hold her tight

Sometimes, but kissed each other. Men came, took
her off to Agamemnon. It assuaged
her grief that while her lord Achilles raged
no Trojans died. He came for her. His look

melted her and she helped him wash his friend.
As she would wash him too before the end.