untangling the web

poetry about and photography of everyday happenings and sights


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There is No Other, We are One

There is no Other, we are one.

 

Hatred is a heart disease, it

can be cured and

it must be cured.

We can cure it.

 

11 innocents shot down and

13 bombs mailed.

Thousands marching

Just to be safe.

 

One young woman living in a

sanctuary

church, unable to

enjoy Fall’s beauty.

 

Hatred is a heart disease, it

can be cured and

it must be cured.

We can cure it.

 

There is no Other, we are one.

 

Inspired by Ruth King’s keynote address for the Chrysalis Institute


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Mr. Bluebird

Fiercely protective of

his territory and brood,

a male bluebird pecks on

a downstairs window,

attacking the enemy.

 

He flies up and

begins anew on

an upstairs window,

seeing the image only

as one who will do him harm.

 

Even though we understand

the mystery of a reflection,

we are much like this bluebird,

unable to see who

the real enemy is.

 

As Pogo said, “We have

met the enemy and

he is us.”

 


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Thoughts

My husband and I and our dog Luna drove into the city yesterday to hike across the new Potterfield Bridge and then through the woods and back across the James River to Belle Isle, an island located at the fall line of the James with a beautiful view of the rapids as well as Hollywood Cemetery and the Richmond skyline. The day was perfect for a long hike—cool and sunny after several days of rain. Many people were out to enjoy the water and the fresh air — young and old, black and white and brown, dogs and children.

Belle Isle has not always been a happy place. During the Civil War it was an open-air Confederate prison camp with minimal shelter. The facility was built for 3,000 prisoners but reports say that this number was doubled or tripled at times. This overcrowding resulted in multiple health issues and the heat in the summer and cold in the winter added to the prisoners’ problems. A sign on the island says that 1,000 Union soldiers perished while there.

As we sat on the rocks at water’s edge refreshing our tired feet in the cold James River, Luna nearby, I could not help but wonder what the 1,000 Union soldiers who died on this island would think if they knew people were still fighting the war for which so, so many gave their lives.