2002-11-12
1:02 p.m.
do not stand at my grave
the news yesterday alternated between montages of remembrance day services and in-depth pieces about the war we're a-brewing in Iraq. (when I say we, I say every idiot country willing to align itself with youknowwho.) so my eyes yesterday alternated. between full of tears for my great-uncle billy in a german POW camp for five years, writing letters home to the girl who married someone else; for the other ancestor who won a victoria cross in an earlier war, who lived in rat-infested trenches and threw himself on a stray grenade to save the friends around him. it's the same awakening as I get around December 6th - 22 isn't old. 22 is me. 22 is so young, 17 is younger, 17 years draining from veins into mud. so. between tears, my eyes swung to rage and venom, the idea that while there are still survivors of two monumental, horrific wars, we are starting new ones, and refusing to intervene on long-standing ones. just fuck right off. so I stood on the citadel while cannons went off and bagpipes filtered through the drizzle, and I don't pray much anymore, but I do every November 11 in the hopes that all this warmth will find its way into the world and fix some shit that needs fixing. it's just that glass ceiling, that humanity keeps ramming up against. we are so close to understanding, I sometimes think, but we never, ever will figure this out. you know what, though? I'm fucked if that means I'm going to stop trying. and weep
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