War baby

A war baby by choice,
but not your ragged terrified
road hugging, bombed, dirt faced
newsreel staggering refugee.
Not a many homed army brat,
with multiple schools of almost friends
and inconstant bedrooms
and fated participation.
I wanted war, technical seduction,
cheered black and white tanks
dust plumed and deadly
rolling across the fields of nineteen forty
long dead death dealers sitting straight,
propaganda valentines.
Watched parades and charges,
knew the enemy in his uniformed strength
and focussed fear and knew the attraction.
Played it too,
always the winner against
the younger brother nations
because history had left us clear on the score at least.
Behind our house the Golan Heights
were a meter high, grassy
and we rolled and shot and hit and lived to
fight other endless summer days.
In the ritually silenced news time living room
drab green machines quieted by voiceovers
jumped back from punched messages
that flew over desert and hill and
wrote history in flying stone and flame.
Or jungle expanded,
the slashing sleight of handfrom a deadly magician’s sleeve,
an earthward fleeing comma
punctuating with an instant ink blot
of obliteration.
I was a war child, and needed it,
until age sensitised
tough thoughts
and imagined hardness
and I felt the fleeing footsteps of fear
the unravelling edge of terror.
Now I watch, eyes trained and uncertain.

Next of kin

There is depth in a family

that defies the skill of outsiders

to find its measure.

People duty-bound

by accident of conception

but traits common

entwine in closeness

too hermetic for comfort.

Ensuring that hate

when hate comes

is hard and keen and blind

and love is often

expected and unspoken.

There are no enemies

like those whose faces

are shockingly familiar,

no recognition more freezing

than the voice that could be our own

hissing cold.

No surprise like the sudden cold

of hidden rooms

opening as we knew they would

on our own

engaged in what we cannot watch

or know.

No ties that can be cut

like those we must cut

from our own flesh.