You get to the picture of the baby, hurting. He’s inconsolable, he’s existing straight through the worst of it the way kiddos do.
But you aren’t one, so you start to walk into the horror: A baby, skin burning from the inside out–napalm
you run away from the horror, retreating to safety and soft pretty syllables (Love Is. Peace: the only answer. NeverWar.
And then you hear his cry in your head so you trembling walk to the image of a baby, skin burning from the inside out—napalm– his arms shivering wildly, while
And again it is too goddamned difficult, you can’t breathe right, you run away with anger and you post about the only thing to do is go to war! And your indignation and
righteousness replace, thank God, the piercing image of a baby, skin burning from the inside out—napalm– his arms shivering wildly, while someone rubs a
white counter-acting chemical on his arms and legs and chest. This is how you traumatically learn many, many times
the vision you could not bear to live to know, that one first time. You don’t have the gift of presence like a child, who does not have your gift,
to retreat, find safety, deny, trust universe, speak peace, know love, learn again, become indignant, become righteous,
(write poems) escape (O anguish, Never?) the moment of burning and the long slow heal– or the death
as that may be, of the baby.