Why don’t these people stop having babies
during a war, under the air strike?
—A comment under the video
In other words, why don’t they
stand at their windows,
watch the offerings of fire
falling from the sky,
listen to their own bones
shiver at every explosion, wait
for their flesh
to turn into ash?
I am not there but the memory of a war
is saved somewhere
in my childhood bones
If I have to live through another one,
if a shell is to fall on my home
I want to be in the kitchen
watching the butter
melting in the pan,
my grandma massaging the dough.
I want to be smelling the thyme,
the tarragon, choosing
which one to add to the dish we are cooking
I want to be in the bedroom
lying beside the warm body
of my lover, listening to the rhythm
of his blood, still flowing
within the borders
of his body
I want to be bathing
my newborn, pouring water
on her feet, feeling
her smooth unmarred skin