Waking Up to War
What if our mornings changed?
Most mornings are about the same these days. Wake up before sunrise, early enough to watch the sun set the sky on fire, marvel at how the orange and yellow streaks give way to hazy purple then to bright white.
Watching from a deck a couple of stories above our quiet, leafy streets, the slick calm of the bay out in the distance, I drink a cup of hot coffee, comfortable and safe, peaceful and serene. Most mornings are about the same these days. Wake up to war, in the headlines, for us, war on our minds, heavy in our hearts but at the end of the day far away.
Somewhere someone else's morning is obliterated, their neighborhood bombed, their city streets leveled, their and their loved ones lives devastated, many ended. Most mornings are about the same these days, governments and the media turning war into a boxscore: 3.2 million Iranians displaced 1 million Lebanese displaced Thousands of airstrikes Thousands of drone attacks More than 4,000 people dead More than 1,300 civilians dead More than 207 children dead More than 170 people dead from the bombing of an elementary girls' school, mostly young girls, and that's just one war, the most recent one. Daily declarations of who's winning, who's not, more assassinations of feared leaders, new resignations of contrarians, endless devastation, to what end? What if our mornings change? War no longer just headlines, our cities become the front lines, our streets become the war's battleground? Unless something else changes, most mornings would be about the same those days, waking up to war, but, at our doorstep.
Stripping away the abstractions, it’s just people making decisions and others paying the price. It’s hard not to question our own beliefs when you imagine that reality arriving at your doorstep. Great poem, Rich.
Great poem, Rich. Describes clearly and beautifully how I, and I'm sure so many others, think and feel.