October 15, 2023The Bush
Every time I thought of anger, or fear or revenge, I breathed it out. I tried to think of what I was grateful for—the bush that hid me so well that even birds landed on it, the birds that were still singing, the sky that was so blue.
—Maya Alper, survivor of Hamas’ attack on the Tribe of Nova music festival
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
Trap music still echoing: the singing
birds another cover. The conscious hush.
The sky that was so blue above the rush.
The sound of blood pooling, shots ringing.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
The bush wasn’t burning, the birds weren’t ash.
A prayer for breath. The rigid thorns clinging.
Birds another cover. The conscious hush.
Lungs instead of terror, the labored wish
to survive. Birds that landed, kept going.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
The roar of explosives, the forceful push
of gratitude against anger. Morning
birds another cover. The conscious hush.
The thorns, the sky, the breath, the birds, the bush.
The hidden body contorted, living.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
Birds another cover. The conscious hush.
from Poets Respond