A BUILDING AWAY

She is a neighbor a building away, we talk weather and potholes, exchange names Mary same as her daughter or is she Marissa or Maria I was distracted, her nephew was chewing the leg of his doll and the day was disappearing before seeds of our words could take root A building a wall a fence a street an ocean a ritual a tradition a history, turnpike exits mile by milepost zoom past, trails of tears saturate the land, winds repollinate the fields with bones The building an ocean away across waves and tides is brick is stucco mud wood thatch a tent ten inches from my open blinds   In the building an ocean away is a woman next door, the thunder of blood in her heart deafened by jets circling their targets, the labor of her lungs muffled by the snapping femurs of olive trees, bulldozers turning her town and land family and children under Who can say who is or isn't a neighbor, who can redline compassion?

Published in Monthly Review
Split this Rock Poem of the Week, May 24, 2013