Monday, October 5, 2020

letter to my friends far away

 

send me pictures of the plants you are growing
since the spring when the virus was growing, too

so that i can see the earth thriving and keep 
an image of beauty amidst bombs blasting the soil

of little known lands. send me poetry 
in the form of birds still singing elsewhere

and the color of the sky undisturbed by smoke 
from flying fires that target people in their own homes

so that i may keep an image of people living
without the fear of death. 

send me songs with words that people speak
when they feel safe, silly words about losing love

or heartbreak or betrayal and finding love
again, so that i may be sure that words still have

meaning when uttered, at least for those living without war.
send me the sound of your heart beating

on a usual day after the sun rises or after 
you go for a walk, after brushing your teeth,

or pick up your children from school. sounds
of people laughing, or chatting, or just

sitting in silence, while the cars hum by
from a nearby street. i want to soothe 

the noise of blood flushing my ears each time 
a new wave of panic rises from injured soil.

send me the smell of dirt, newly dug and the 
feel of worms on your bare fingers

i want to know something stays alive
in some chunk of earth somewhere else.

send me the dreams you dream
when you go to sleep without preparing

a bag with a passport, nonperishable food,
clothes and warm socks, a blanket, a flashlight

in case you are shocked out of sleep at night
by air raid sirens, followed by the sounds 

of blasts. lend me your dreams for a lifetime
so that i may keep the image of peace in mind

at least for another day.

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