WHEN WAR COMES

by Tricia Knoll

At first the war seemed far away from dying manatees, 

slaughtered wolves, prices at the pump, and bomb cyclones.  

 

Then I asked myself IF I had ever

            eaten from plastic boxes in an air-raid shelter

            witnessed the death of my children on Instagram

            slept in a subway station on one old blanket

            carried a bleeding pregnant woman from a bombed-out hospital

            met my neighbors for the first time in a shelter

            tried to explain why my dog should get food

            pushed twelve women and children into a minibus

            moved my grandmother in a wheelbarrow

            asked where all the shoes went in the shoe store

            lined up all my books—from Dante to Harry Potter

                        to Yeats and Dickinson as shields from bullets

            considered shooting a saboteur on my street

            sang a song to comfort strangers

            clutched my passport every minute of every day

            cooked for a soldier in the basement

            hoped there was enough water for bedtime

            decided to name a newborn as a missile fell

            realized I had to leave behind the family Bible

            worried about who is running the nuclear plant

            mixed a Molotov cocktail in yesterdays’ Chablis bottle

            tried to resurrect the footprint of my family’s home

            fled from ancestral graveyards

            appreciated bright stars in a black-out

 

in dark days for the globe—midst pandemic, 

climate change, aggression, lies, inflation, poverty,

and pollution. What song does the Earth sing today? 

Tricia Knoll understands concerns about rising gas prices and inflation. She is able to drive less, to stay home while others cannot and buy less. The televising of the war against Ukraine is ceaseless and compelling, She wishes we could act as if we are all residents of Earth, what destroys one hurts us all as citizens of this globe.

HURRICANE SEASON

by Jan Steckel 

Poster by Rusty Ford

The mercury was in triple digits, the moon
ocherous with smoke, cities submerged.
An orange gibbon necklaced in skulls
drop kicked brown-skinned Americans
over borders, polkaed over illegal bodies.

We sandbagged against the Klan,
stored water for dousing crosses,
hoarded fuel to flee Brown Shirts.
Cyclones whirled clockwise
south of the equator,
widdershins in the North.

We covered windows with plywood.
Black Bloc buffeted the downtown.
We all renewed our passports.
Churches built secret shelters
for the undocumented.
It was too late to evacuate the States.

We sheltered in place,
hunkered and braced for
depressions and disturbances.
A brassy trumpet’s wall rumbled up.
The Daily Stormer surged.
The Republic came tumbling down.

Jan Steckel was a Harvard- and Yale-trained pediatrician who took care of Spanish-speaking children until chronic pain persuaded her to change professions to writer, poet and medical editor. She is an activist for bisexual and disability rights who lives in Oakland, California. Her poetry book The Horizontal Poet (Zeitgeist Press, 2011) won a 2012 Lambda Literary Award. Her fiction chapbook Mixing Tracks (Gertrude Press, 2009) and poetry chapbook The Underwater Hospital (Zeitgeist Press, 2006) also won awards. Her creative writing has appeared in Scholastic Magazine, Yale Medicine, Bellevue Literary Review, and elsewhere. Her work won the Goodreads Newsletter Poetry Contest, a Zeiser Grant for Women Artists, the Jewel by the Bay Poetry Competition, Triplopia’s Best of the Best competition, and three Pushcart nominations.