The Poetry Kit |
| Catherine Kanaan | |||
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After
reading Lynn Strongin's poems I had flashbacks to my own experience of
war or at least the closest I got to one. I was in Lebanon on and off
during the civil war. Even now, 17 years later, there are psysical
scars. The psychological scars will be there at least till the
generation that lived through the war is gone.
Lebanon,
1993 Haibun
We headed to
the mountains, leaving the frayed, bullet holed city
of old
american sprung seats.
the
adulterous affair
with america
the beautiful
in old chevy
seats
We felt a
sudden freshness, began to pass small worn villages that breathed
carefully in the aftermath of war,
a moslem
village here, a christian one there.
moslem,
christian, druze
segregated
villages
integrated
graveyards
After an
hour we reached the village of Souk-el-Gharb, its main street battered
even after several years of tenuous peace, deserted
but for a couple of shuffling women in black. I had a sudden vision of
them preserved in mothballs
for the
eternity that was the war, only recently re-aired.
two black
moths
flutter
in the dead
village
We parked in
front of the old stone house, still intact except for the roof which
had disgorged its red Marseille tiles.
We didn’t
need the key. Several armies had passed through. I picked my way
carefully and entered.
front yard
rubbled
careful
steps in case of
unexploded
“ordnance”
The walls
were still standing. There was the bathroom where I’d had my weekly
bath, water warmed in an oversized aluminum pot, the
kitchen with grey marble sink miraculously untouched,
the
familiar crack running through the middle.
another life
I am a cat
with nine
lives
We checked to see if anything was left but no, even the soul had gone long ago, the walls were mute.
I stood in eerie
silence listening for anything. The house gave off an almost hostile
feel, suddenly seemed to say, “I’ve
been betrayed, ravished, go and let me be.”
a ragged
village still stunned
still
shunned |
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