“Speak out for those who cannot speak, for the rights of all the destitute.”
Proverbs 31:8
this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war and other disasters
we honor courage in all its forms
cross-posted at DailyKos, Booman Tribune, European Tribune, and My Left Wing.
image and poem below the fold
An injured Iraqi man lies in shock in a local hospital, in Baghdad, Iraq, Thursday, March 9, 2006. Two roadside bombs targeting Iraqi patrols Thursday killed at least two civilians and injured 10, police said.
(AP Photo/Mahmoud Al-Badri)
Angel Saint
by Lilah Hegnauer
for Ssenono Vicent (9/1984 – 9/2003)
If I could choose, if it was possible, if I was worthy, if babies homes weren’t crowded
if aunts and grandparents weren’t overburdened and I could take it all back
to the point where no man had sinned, I would rather be an angel than a saint.
I would rather float close to God and close to men than be canonized by men.
I’m dying and I see a light, I’m dying and I see my creator, I’m dying
and the heat which fills my veins finally calls my lifelong bluffing
and I leave. Life’s been so long in coming and so quick in going — somewhere between
watching my parents turn hollow and smelling the rainy season come on again
and again life must have happened because now it’s stopping and I can’t find
the part where life happened at all. Once, madam was explaining a sonnet and the turns
it can take at the end and the tensions its form carries and I thought my life is less sonnet
and more rhymed couplet — beginning, it is nearly done and ending, it is still being propelled.
My lantern is fading, my coal is cooling. I want to leave this world and find another,
not stay remembered here where only Ugandans would notice me looking out
from prayer cards. They’ll pray and I’ll have to be the mendicant for their
eyelid lesions and pointed ribs, their mouth sores, night sweats, and patching hair;
so let me be an angel, let me watch again from above. I’ll stop begging and
start living; please give it up, please give me up, please — I want to go and meet them —
the saints I prayed to, the angels who watched over me, the God who made me
in his image. I want to see if he has shrunken muscles, too and know if his mouth
grows dry in the night so he wakes swollen and cracking. I want this heat, this choice.
– – –
put a meaningful magnet on your car or metal filing cabinet
read Ilona’s important new blog – PTSD Combat
view the pbs newshour silent honor roll (with thanks to jimstaro at booman.)
take a private moment to light one candle among many (with thanks to TXSharon)
support Veterans for Peace
support the Iraqi people
support the Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC)
support CARE
support the victims of torture
remember the fallen
support Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors – TAPS
support Gold Star Families for Peace
support the fallen
support the troops
support Iraq Veterans Against the War
support Military families Speak Out
support the troops and the Iraqi people
read This is what John Kerry did today, the diary by lawnorder that prompted this series
read Riverbend’s Bagdhad Burning
read Dahr Jamail’s Iraq Dispatches
read Today in Iraq
witness every day
