I have been listening so long and thin sound passes through the Iraqi boy who tells a reporter he likes the artillery's slam and stutter, shredded syntax of a new life.
I keep my ear to the susurrus of wind behind the news, remain orchestrated by a camellia's urging. I hum the double helix so as not to lose my place.
The shot soil's rank scent can make you lose count of potholes under your free wheels. We are shadowed by the American Indian woman as she flies
home to Tuba City, her dog tags clanging. She is shadowed by a woman who sails on her unwound hijab's black wing. When my feet again find earth
I will answer questions, but first they must clear the verbs of landmines. Words are armed. Let them lay down their mountainous arms and wash their ululations among the reeds of a marsh-river.
Rachel Dacus's poetry collection, Earth Lessons, appeared from Bellowing Ark Press in 1998 and was followed by a poetry-and-music CD, A God You Can Dance. Her poetry has appeared in various publications and been included in the anthologies Ravishing DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English (Wesleyan University Press) and The Best of Melic (Melic Review). Additional information is available on her website: www.dacushome.com
