This poem was sent to me after correspondence about my own
son's deployment in Iraq, and there is no better showcase for it
than this particular issue of The Blue House.~Thank you, Hal.
THE WOMEN
by Harold Lorin
Long after birthing the women are brave.
Alone on widow's walks beyond the sea.
Stone eyed in the windows, hanging stars.
Perpetual as the flowers they have lain on the graves.
How have we felt that the women are strong?
We've sensed their silences amidst our cheers.
We've watched their eyes while the marching bands played
Going off to be killed where they do not belong.
They have prepared the lost ones for the pyre.
Polished the shields on which their sons returned.
Put the coins on the eyelids before the god's fire.
Since Acamoth. Since before the age of the sea.
In the city, within the wall, they are quiet and patient
But also in the huts by the hollowed trees
And in the stone houses
Near the route that Carlos Magnus followed.
In places were the Alexanders, Louis' and Bonapartes rejoiced.
Always the women are strong.
Always the women are brave.
