Tuesday, April 16, 2013

the bomb pop

Children were injured,
the nations were gathered
in Boston...

We were America and Africa
running in solidarity
and we still are
and we yet have
half a mile to go
with the finish line in sight
like a promise always made
but never kept
yet never violated

thus was our race
thus was our friendship

You can call it fatalism
but we called it hope,
the voice of grace
calling us to stretch forward
one more turning

In our cocksure youth
we discussed politics
and politics
of religion
until we saw
these would always be
identical paradigms
packaged in changing words

We agreed
uncertain faith
was a better path

in accepting each imperfect other
in believing in
the pollen of goodness
and the bees of beauty
whose sting is as fierce
as flowers are fragrant

We came to see peace
as a river
of blood
for others

Truthfully, he more than I
for his was ever
the greater sacrifice:
he spoke my language
but I did not reciprocate

yet our kinship
became more innocent
like his grandchild
standing by the sidelines

We ran slowly
so we came late
to the scene.

When we arrived
the granddaughter was not there
nor her parents,
his children.

So we ran to the hospital
faster than the marathon’s pace
and found them all there

thank God

I learned as he translated:
while one generation
endured the race of hard-fought friendship
the next class bought a bomb pop
for the young one.

She could not finish her treat
so we promised her another one—
to which she replied,
“No, thank you. I can live without it.”

She is wise beyond her years,
Lord have mercy.

the bomb pop
a poem by troy cady

No comments: