“Operation Cast Lead” is not
the Title of a Movie
After a night of gasping
at fireworks
I nurse the consequences
of champagne.
Somewhere else they are remembering
smoke that takes forever
to clear, the ringing in the ears,
the smell of burnt flesh
among personal belongings.
The Blind Stealth of Drones
It used to shock us
to hear of deaths
at a wedding, at a funeral.
On paths made barren
by heavy boots,
grass no longer grows.
The next explosion
is just another
loose pebble.
Three Views of an Israeli
Checkpoint and a Missing Mother
1
Who chose your womb before you were
born?
Was your name known
to the speck of dust that first
entered your eye?
Are you the only one
who sweats in the harsh burning
of this sun as it turns in silence?
Why does the next moment lie
on your finger that senses fear?
It is only a child you face,
why do you warm the trigger?
2
You are in full military gear.
He is wrapped in a blue blanket,
serene.
The barrel of your gun is close to his
feet.
His grandfather holds him steady, to
keep his sleep.
The next moment is measured in
increments
of fear, that distance closing in.
3
Old man, it is not time alone
that has struck
your hair this white.
Your hands know the depth of olive
roots,
the countless times they can be pulled
out of the ground by those
who wish to see them twist in the sun.
Those hands
hold more
than your daughter’s child.
These poems appear in my recent collection, Sound Before Water (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2013).
Jim Pascual Agustin writes and translates poetry in Filipino
and English. He grew up in the Philippines and now lives in Cape Town
with his Canadian-born wife and their twin daughters. His fifth and
sixth poetry books are Kalmot ng Pusa sa Tagiliran and Sound Before Water,
simultaneously published in 2013 by the University of Santo Tomas
Publishing House in Manila. The same publisher recently accepted a new
collection, A Thousand Eyes. His blog is www.matangmanok.wordpress.com
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