So many sat on the Titanic in luxury
inside away from the cold
their view—an ice berg sculpture
a full moon gleams across still waters
so warm, so comfortable they sit
until the accident that was never to happen
the ship that could not sink, sank
It is six am Sunday morning
I lie awake in my soft warm bed,
it is a peaceful morning in Seattle.
In Afghanistan bombs are falling
lazars are destroying brains in caves
families of suicide bombers have their homes destroyed.
I try to imagine a war outside my window—the rain is all I hear
and with the imagining I can barely do
is a sadness for what my country is doing
to a people, to a planet.
I long To Go See What Is A Non-Sight
the empty sky at the foot of all of Manhattan
I mourn this loss
I am a New Yorker I lived with this view daily
this aberrant view of two overly tall buildings
two penile erections
Children are asked to send dollars
Millions of dollars manifest from nowhere
money floods to the military,
is sent to red cross who misuse,
misallocate, and misappropriate it.
The red cross building in Afghanistan is blown up by accident.
Food is shipped, pop tarts and peanut butter.
We say we care about the Afghanistan people
I lie in my comfortable bed—they cross mine fields
to get our junk food
Every social service suffers in the aftermath of this war.
I lie with the eternal question—
what is right with this?
How are we, North America, the USA,
how are we learning? Versus reacting?
isn’t it possible this is based on history?
Like September 11th, 1973
the same day, a Tuesday
the same time, before 9 am
the same number of people dead
Salvador Allende assassinated
ruthless tortures and murders
men thrown out of planes
Do any of us remember this? Do we care?
Some internal jokester sends white powder for kicks
a few more die
We enter a McCarthy era,
always war hyped out of proportion
a twisted way to boost the economy.
The titanic was built to last but it went down.
What in the hell are we doing?
They hate us and they have a right
and they are only getting angrier
with better reasons than they had before.
We are the Titanic boldly going forward
where we have no reason to be
reaping what we sow.
Julene Tripp Weaver is a psychotherapist and writer in Seattle. She has a chapbook and two full size poetry books. Her most recent, truth be bold—Serenading Life & Death in the Age of AIDS, was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and won the Bisexual Book Award (2017). Her work is widely published in journals and anthologies. Find her online at www.julenetrippweaver.com