My friend Marcus Erikson made a sculpture out of of the first dead Iraqi he saw.
Passion's Heart is inspired by the sculpture and begins with a quote by Marcus.
PASSION'S HEARTS
"All that sadness just lingers.
It just hovers there."
He goes in first and is not afraid.
He's been here before but not me.
Some trees stand and some still fall.
The courtyard of this public garden is empty today
Save for us.
And now only me since my brave has gone into the surgery place.
Now holds only coddling figs and abandoned art and me.
Standing in a mine field of botanical hearts
Strewn 'round about my wary feet
And I know not to move
And I do not move
But stare at a thousand Iraqi flies
Traveled all this way to feed on passion's hearts and realize my fears.
And I will not move from fear, for fear
And I do not want to see what I know I am about to see.
The flies black cloud rises as the marine welder surgeon
Emerges for the cave with the dead man in his arms
Or half of him
And I am even less prepared than I thought.
Deep inside my gut the echo rips through
Of that sixteen years old explosion
That took the life of the thing
And sucked the air from the air
And nothing yet has returned to grow.
Please don't make me look.
And God said, "Look at my beautiful child."
Now it's left to me to bring the rest
And I will
For love of the brave and for my own healing too
Or not.
The legs, permanently cocked and appropriately supine
But for these four minutes
Of paul baring these ball bearings
And four legs is not enough for running me far enough away
From where I've never been.
I've know the silent or at least quiet reverence appropriate to the dead
And I practice it now
No less than if metal were meat.
It is right that I should do so
And I do
Even though doing what is right is at the very bottom of my list right now
And yes, that is a lie
But if wishing it wasn't would make it true,
God and Satan's gospel it would be.
I'll sit for an impromptu eulogy
And let but not make feeling.
All is quiet
All is reverent
Mature sadness and not contrived.
We join the other congregants for daily procession into the sun
All come together at last where drivers are wanted.
Inside our rented hearse
We are three brothers.
One sings.
One cries.
One is silent.
