At Christmas we’d lay down our arms,

sing Silent Night,

break bread and wine,

play football with the niceties,

pass salt along with pleasantries

pretending we were both the same.

But New Year always hung upon the dawn,

its fireworks heralding

some new offence…

 

Caught in shell shocked torpor,

through the mist of battle pall,

your lights winked at me,

willed me on through empty no man’s land.

I found the will to climb my walls,

trod on a thousand parts

that squished and screamed,

begged me not to stumble

blind and bloody to my goal.

 

Still I’m haunted by that journey,

the weight of tears that pulled me down,

the wait for truth that need be found,

absolution hanging on a spider’s thread,

the spin of a coin,

the medal or the bullet to the head…

 

And yet, I am the lucky one,

whose choices could be made.

Beyond the wailing wall,

I sense my faceless sisters,

their cries for freedom

muted

and unheard.