Dec. 10, 2009.
Oslo, Norway.
There is a door, and you walk in.
This is necessary, you say, you will save them.
There is a prize, smaller than your palm, which glistens
with flashbulbs.
Nov. 9, 2009.
Kabul, Afghanistan.
They have veils. Their veils are not so black,
because of dust.
See, you thought the veils were black.
You did not ask them.
They meet in secret. You have not asked them this,
so you do not know.
You know nothing real about them.
They have veils on their heads, yes,but you put bombs — glistening — on their scalps instead.
Lena Judith Drake is the editor-in-chief of Breadcrumb Scabs poetry magazine (http://www.breadcrumbscabs.com). For more information or her previous publications, please visit her personal website (http://lenajudith.sedentarygecko.com).
