In the Miklat

In the Miklat

by Kelp

These concrete walls, ceilings and floors do not easily lend themselves to poetry,
Nor the violence and vitriol that forces us into this spare, bare room.
But sitting here with me, knees to knees, are the people I love the most.
All of these, that I have known in their days of brightest brilliance,
And with whom I have shared incalculable minutes, sometimes eloquently, sometimes inarticulately, sometimes disappointingly; such is love, such is the nature of relationships.
And the one I have shared the least with, only because her years are still measured in months,
This astonishing daughter of my children, with whom I am deeply in love,
Who never fails to greet me with her brilliant eyes and her brilliant toothless smile.
She knows not why she is here with us, in this room, in the dead of night, and why the siren blares.
Nor does she know why one human being wants to kill another,
Why we build these machines that kill, ever stretching for the perfect weapon, ever yearning to destroy the person that we are convinced is yearning to destroy us, us and our family, us and our future.
There is so much explaining that needs to be done, as if an explanation exists;
So many apologies that need to be made, as if an apology can make it all better.
There is so much to say, or try to say, when you are ready to try to grasp all that is ungraspable.
Not now, not yet. As we sit here, exhausted, longing to return to the warmth of our soft and peaceful beds.