As I decide whether to take the trip to Washington to march for peace, I am drawn back to another time. March 3, 2003.
Four years since I stood with other Unitarian Universalist Women in front of the White House.
March 3, 2003
At the time I didn't know if I would ever hold a grandbaby in my arms. But 14 months later, I was blessed with a precious, pink baby girl.
My granddaughter is blessed with peaceful days. Days when all she is concerned about is riding her trike, reading dozens of books and dancing to the Wiggles. And we who care for her have our worries. I worry about her looking right and left for cars coming. And her mother feeds her soul and nourishes her body with organic food and no sugar. And her father protects her from monster alligators behind the couch.
So I'm in tears when I think of the words I spoke on that cold blusterly
day on our Code Pink vigil four years ago.
Looking at a New Grandson written by Teresa Anderson
He is three weeks old
his ears are pink shells
his fingers the buds of lilies.
I am acutely aware
of the motion of his little lungs.
He makes snuffling sounds
and wriggles his face
in search of his mother's breast.
Born into a world in turmoil
he may not always know peaceful days
though his mother is a warrior protector
and his father holds him against his chest
away from these bitter winter winds.
As long as I don't think of
a grandmother in Baghdad
as long as I don't picture her
gazing with this same adoration
at her new grandson
as long as I don't envision
the coming firestorm
as long as I don't picture
the immolation of his tiny body
I can get through the day
without howling against the wind
without weeping until my body
turns to dust.
but my sister has not slept
since her son shipped out
for the U.S.airfields in Bahrain
and warlords gather once again
to plan purification by fire.
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