Mother and Child Reunion
Remember 2010 when no one could fly
over the Atlantic or anywhere
in North or Western Europe,
when Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull
erupted its fine gritty ash and interrupted
Africa’s international flower markets,
when the BBC looped footage of bulldozers
pushing pounds of red petals
and thorns clung to metal teeth, when roses
dangled for the camera then fell into pits of trash?
We were caught on our anniversary Roman holiday
when nothing seemed right
about more days of Italian pear gelato
and marble Madonnas, when, Oh Mama Mia,
I missed my darling girl in the States
tucked in tight every night under her Grandmother’s quilts.
While dozens of long stems were worthless,
when not enough money in the world
could buy me home,
not even with diamonds
on soles of my shoes.
While we waited I sang, “Is only a motion away”
I sang “Is only a moment away”
It seems like nothing now
Michelle’s on the telly now holding up signs
“Bring Back Our Girls”
and we dare talk about mass weddings
we talk about the sale of their smooth, young flesh.
We’d rather hear Simon sing, rather do anything,
Take our mothers for ice-cream, get her garden seeds.
We can’t think about our daughters herded at gunpoint,
that kind of rebel grandchildren, about if they return
will there be a gray zone for them to walk back into
without tongues clacking and eyes downcast?
Will they be allowed to speak of the unspeakable?
Will the village remember they’re children, school girls who rose
in red uniforms when the teacher called their names.
“”But I would not give you false hope on this strange and mournful day
when the mother and child reunion is only a motion away”
--Kierstin Bridger
Remember 2010 when no one could fly
over the Atlantic or anywhere
in North or Western Europe,
when Iceland’s Eyjafjallajokull
erupted its fine gritty ash and interrupted
Africa’s international flower markets,
when the BBC looped footage of bulldozers
pushing pounds of red petals
and thorns clung to metal teeth, when roses
dangled for the camera then fell into pits of trash?
We were caught on our anniversary Roman holiday
when nothing seemed right
about more days of Italian pear gelato
and marble Madonnas, when, Oh Mama Mia,
I missed my darling girl in the States
tucked in tight every night under her Grandmother’s quilts.
While dozens of long stems were worthless,
when not enough money in the world
could buy me home,
not even with diamonds
on soles of my shoes.
While we waited I sang, “Is only a motion away”
I sang “Is only a moment away”
It seems like nothing now
Michelle’s on the telly now holding up signs
“Bring Back Our Girls”
and we dare talk about mass weddings
we talk about the sale of their smooth, young flesh.
We’d rather hear Simon sing, rather do anything,
Take our mothers for ice-cream, get her garden seeds.
We can’t think about our daughters herded at gunpoint,
that kind of rebel grandchildren, about if they return
will there be a gray zone for them to walk back into
without tongues clacking and eyes downcast?
Will they be allowed to speak of the unspeakable?
Will the village remember they’re children, school girls who rose
in red uniforms when the teacher called their names.
“”But I would not give you false hope on this strange and mournful day
when the mother and child reunion is only a motion away”
--Kierstin Bridger