An Ode

By J. Raymond Bennett

I see you in the garden of your life,
beard curled like tiny spears guarding 
spring flowers, edges rough no matter 
how long it is combed upward and outward.

Walking sandy steps through the market,
your sandals whispering through dust
as you choose handwoven fabric for 
your wife, colors bright as pomegranates.

Quoting Rumi to her, your voice softening
as she lets her hair fall, a black, shimmering 
waterfall pouring down the line of her back,
like the Euphrates slipping beneath moonlight.

Kissing your children’s foreheads,
palm resting on each small head, voice 
guiding them through the Shahada,
your touch a second declaration of faith.

Serenity in the way you whisper
Inshallah when a neighbor asks
if rain will finally lift the dust 
from the mud daubed walls.

I see you meeting your brothers
in the dead of night, darkness 
broken only by the yip-yip of wild
dogs hunting rats in alleyways.

Your sidara slips as you shake a fist,
voice rising into the cold air
as you stamp your feet on stone,
ridding yourself of the growing chill.

I wish I could hear your arguments,
your back swallowed in the shadow
of a home meant to shelter your family,
as if distance alone could protect them.

I watch as you pull dirt and trash
from the sides of the causeway,
burying what you made,
fire, dust, blood, creations
of trembling hands, the same hands
that touched your children so gently,
before the moonlight steels your resolve.

I see the pain in your eyes
when your brother grips your shoulder,
rebukes you gently, out of love,
out of fear, when you return.

For we both see how you are tender;
the long silences of your prayers
five times a day, your brow furrowed
as if you could draw God closer
by the force of concentration alone.

I see you, friend.
I see you and love you.

But we are devils watching devils,
and so I pull the trigger anyway.

****

J. Raymond Bennett is a poet and veteran with deployments to the Middle East, South America, and the Horn of Africa.  He resides in Syracuse, New York, with his son and German Shepherd, Terra.  His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Consequence, The Wrath-Bearing Tree, Rockvale Review, ISSUED: Stories of Service, Behemoth Magazine, and Constellations.