Before we speak of war
of enemies
of those deserving to die
please imagine your grandmother
in her lilac flowered housecoat
nylon, I think
holding out a chipped blue plate
with slightly burned almond cookies.
you don’t like almond cookies
but you take one
chew it out of love
your grandmother smiles
and you return the smile.
as you lean in to hug her
her image dissolves into the other
the one you have learned to hate
the ones whose offspring perhaps are killing your neighbors
as your relatives are perhaps killing hers.
her bones are sturdier than your grandmother's
the skin on her arms a few shades different from yours
her dress a soft moss green
but she still holds the chipped blue plate of almond cookies
an offering
you invite her in
you'd like to ask her to call in her offspring
and you will invite your parents, uncles and aunts
to sit together
smooth out all that matters
but that is not to be.
your grandmother returns
scatters almonds on the countertop
one for every child killed this week
dough appears
you cannot tell from where.
the grandmothers in tandem
pound smooth and roll
partition it for the almonds
one for every child
you watch
you count the endless stream of cookies
as tray after tray is set in the oven.
Outside
the war goes on.
