Another Look

A spring morning and I catch a glimpse of the front page:
a vibrant collage of young faces.

A class picture, I supposed, it’s the end of the school year.
How thoughtful of these teachers, struggling in a pandemic year,
trying to recreate a childhood ritual for their online students: A zoom class picture.

The “class picture” that you tuck away into a favorite book,
until it shows up on the screen at your wedding reception,
The one passed around at your reunions.
The photo you share to the shrieks of your own children,
that gets enfolded into the family album.
It might even be there when you are bidden a final farewell.

Then, just as suddenly, the words of the headline above the picture invaded my soul.

THEY WERE JUST CHILDREN

These sixty-seven Palestinian and two Israeli children
who in their innocence deserved springtime cakes and ribbons
were showered instead with bombs and shrapnel.
They are the unwilling graduates of the school of violence and hate.

For them, no favorite books, no wedding receptions or reunions, no children of their own, no album of memories.

What were their few forming memories?

Their parent's arms, their siblings’ voices, playgrounds and playmates, their first dolls and bike rides, the smells of their kitchen.

All their memories have been crushed into the ash and rubble of what,
one moment ago, was home.

How do we dismantle this school of hatred?
I pray, knowing it is not enough.

Carlo Busby, 2021

Image from original article: They Were Only Children By Mona El-Naggar, Adam Rasgon and Mona Boshnaq May 26, 2021