Perhaps Rich is wrong in the poem below when she asserts “Not of course here.”
THE SCHOOL AMONG THE RUINS
Beirut
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. Baghdad. Sarajevo. Bethlehem. Kabul. Not of course here.
1
Teaching the first lesson and the last
–great falling light of summer will you last
longer than schooltime?
When children flow
in columns at the doors
BOYS GIRLS and the busy teachers
open or close high windows
with hooked poles drawing darkgreen shades
closets unlocked, locked
questions unasked, asked, when
love of the fresh impeccable
sharp-pencilled yes
order without cruelty
a street on earth neither heaven nor hell
busy with commerce and worship
young teachers walking to school
fresh bread and early-open foodstalls
2
When the offensive rocks the sky when nightglare
misconstrues day and night when lived-in
rooms from the upper city
tumble cratering lower streets
cornices of olden ornament human debris
when fear vacuums out the streets
When the whole town flinches
blood on the undersole thickening to glass
Whoever crosses hunched knees bent a contested zone
knows why she does this suicidal thing
School’s now in session day and night
children asleep
in the classrooms teachers rolled close
3
How the good teacher loved
his school the students
the lunchroom with fresh sandwiches
lemonade and milk
the classroom glass cages
of moss and turtles
teaching responsibility
A morning breaks without bread or fresh-poured milk
parents or lesson plans
diarrhea first question of the day
children shivering it’s September
Second question: where is my mother?
4
One: I don’t know where your mother
is Two: I don’t know
why they are trying to hurt us
Three: or the latitude and longitude
of their hatred Four: I don’t know if we
hate them as much I think there’s more toilet paper
in the supply closet I’m going to break it open
Today this is your lesson:
write as clearly as you can
your name homes street and number
down on this page
No you can’t go home yet
but you aren’t lost
this is our school
I’m not sure what we’ll eat
we’ll look for healthy roots and greens
searching for water though the pipes are broken
5
There’s a young cat sticking
her head through window bars
she’s hungry like us
but can feed on mice
her bronze erupting fur
speaks of a life already wild
her golden eyes
don’t give quarter She’ll teach us Let’s call her
Sister
when we get milk we’ll give her some
6
I’ve told you, let’s try to sleep in this funny camp
All night pitiless pilotless things go shrieking
above us to somewhere
Don’t let your faces turn to stone
Don’t stop asking me why
Let’s pay attention to our cat she needs us
Maybe tomorrow the bakers can fix their ovens
7
“We sang them to naps told stories made
shadow-animals with our hands
wiped human debris off boots and coats
sat learning by heart the names
some were too young to write
some had forgotten how”
2001