Some Days It is All I Can Do (for Margaret Hassan)

to keep myself from walking around crying
babbling when someone asks about
last night¹s brain-dead comedy
I felt someone pulled off the streets
of baghdad this morning
her fear fogged my glasses
I reached in my pocket and lint
was pulled out
as the blindfold came down
over her eyes
the hard chair pressing against
her back
is stiffness in my neck
the tears are just there
behind my eyes like
the drops on the window
if she dies tonight
I will bathe in my tears
to try and cleanse at least
one soul

Light Under the Door
(In Memoriam: Margaret Hassan)

she did not toil there
to profit
from the flow of black gold
a brass door knob
a rusty bottle cap
a young girls voice saying thank you
may have found its way
into her suitcase
her hands trembled
not when the door was locked
but when it opened
not knowing the time
chosen to write upon her death
I see how this false war
could have led to this
the blackness echoed back to her
to the light under the door
she whispered
I would not have done otherwise

Randolph Nesbitt
47 years old
Aliso Viejo, CA
poet/artist/photographer, mortgage broker by trade, Poet Against the War