The Rites of Spring

The air dances and seethes
to the scent of burnt clothes,
shattered blood, and cluster bombs
whistling their rancid shriek;
a new morning lurches to its feet
in sudden frenzy 
from Gaza
to my country’s sea;
just so, I wake and remember:
These too are the rites of spring.

The Lord said to Moses,
“Set up tents, make me a sanctuary
that I may dwell in their midst.”
Who listened? Not the righteous,
not the chosen, not the victors
of recent time and false memory,
not the prophets of the satisfied,
not the offspring of a blood-land fable,
not high priests in prostituted temples of learning.
Who listened? Only the sons and
daughters of the damned,
clutching their past and future
as a weapon—carrying
the most ferocious, the most costly
and most joyous of battles
into your heart and mine:
These too are the rites of spring.

I ask myself: Must I too become
a holy site of this war,
a human battleground among
many battlegrounds in the fight for
an unchained peace?
For I hear America whispering;
I hear her rulers screaming; 
I hear her children singing;
and I know that bell tolls for me:
These too are the rites of spring.

Out of the darkest valley
comes an aching flood of feeling;
pouring down from skies of thunder
a trial by fire, a cry to incite a weary throat;
for the Lord said to Ezekiel,
"Son of man, can these dead bones live?"
and I found the strength to say: Yes Lord,
I believe they can.
“Then watch the time,” He said,
“as I raise my people from the grave”:
These too are the rites of spring.

Let the stones shout for justice
if I will not bear witness;
or let it be as Refaat said:
Let tomorrow be a tale
of this—our actions and inactions,
our judgment day
in the eyes of Rafah’s children:
These too are the rites of spring.

Let young flowers
trampled to the earth
rise again as trees:
These too are the rites of spring.

Let me have eyes to see
and ears to hear;
let knowledge blossom, heavy but free:
These too are the rites of spring.

Let reality nourish the living,
while the vultures prolong 
their last feast:
These too are the rites of spring.

Let the river keep moving 
to meet its mother, the sea,
in the embrace of an unbroken land:
These too, Beloved,
are the sacred rites of spring.