All of a sudden
(it was hot, it was blue,
we had finished a meal,
in what would be soon
once a home,)
a sound devoured the sky.
The sky remained blue for a moment,
but was gone from our ears,
young and old, torn open,
all of a sudden,
from outside in.
All of a sudden
the sky turned white
We could not hear.
All that was blue was gone.
The white turned gray.
Sand ate our eyes
in blinding bites.
The gray was gone.
What remained was far
gone from color.
All of a sudden rocks fell
from the sky. As big as heads
they fell. A steel beam fell,
a needle of stone
pierced my eye.
All of a sudden my son
was deaf forever. He would never
hear me say I love you!
all of a sudden forever.
An arm flew by
all of a sudden. I didn’t see the rest
of my wife, forever.
She took another son, too.
We never said goodbye, forever.
I’ve heard, in your country,
people rush up to the roofs
when they hear the sound,
to see. We flee down.
We chew the dirt to go even deeper.
We have already seen.
I have heard they are called
Blue Angels
in your country,
that thousands gather
to watch them fly.
If these are angels
of your heaven
I do not want to see them
forever.
Will Kirkland
October, 2009
In San Francisco, all afternoon
I listen to the music of Rumi
so when the creatures roar over,
making hearts and car alarms scream
I can let the tears go
pretending they come from joy
not fear
of angels and their men.
[I have written in previous years about the Blues. This is the worst weekend of the year in San Francisco, not only for the Angels falling blue to hell, but for the adoration shown, without a thought, the merest thought of what it really means.]
Tags: Blue Angels, poem, weapons
Will, I was walking in Tennesse Valley. Meditating on the beach. A refuge from the constant in put from news, friends and my dear mother…..and then the roar over and again. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was, then I saw one, and realized, and thought what if I was an innocent, on the ground scrambling for cover with no where to go. What if my children had no where to hide and we would soon be blood and carnage, and no one would take responsibility for us.
How can they think this is entertainment?
Thank you for the poem, and the heart.
Ruth
THanks, Will, for your loving perspective. I suppose we always do get caught up in the remarkable skill of these fliers, and rarely think how their skills are used.
Your comments –your lovely poem — harmonize beautifully with Obama’s Peace Prize, and the opportunity we all now have to look at the world differently.
XXX
Beth