Did I not know this? Have I been this callous and self-involved? Does it even make a difference that I might, now, care?
Yesterday terrorists attacked the Brussels Airport and a Subway stop. To date, 34 people are counted as the dead.
Today I heard an interview with a brother of a young man who, along with is girlfriend, had been living and loving in Belgium. He spoke of his brother, the girl, and of their lives lived so deeply and interestingly.
They are among those not yet accounted for.
Nothing we are in this world is impervious to endings. We write them ourselves. They are written by others. They are purposeful. They are merely coincidental. Fated. Greek. Permanent.
I have children. I cannot conceive of their end written by anyone. I know this fear is not new. But it is mine.
And while I do not fear terrorists, while they do not inspire terror in me, I wonder what they think, what they feel, and how I might, given the chance, take as much from them.
Poem: After Two Brothers and Others Unknown Committed a Terrorist Attack in Brussels, Belgium, 3/22/16, Killing 34 people
Here…Let me take this from you:
bleeds like everything else,
screams as loudly,
couldn’t do enough,
would never have traded you for ,
loved you without words or glances,
cried like you when you didn’t know you were crying,
knew more than could ever be said,
used to be your ,
used to drink all the milk,
used to push you till you broke,
won’t be something you have to worry about anymore.