Pulse

In Jerusalem I saw a soldier buying

a children's book,

a mailman who evaded the dogs along his route

only to be bitten by a little boy.

In Athens a woman threw herself

in front of a train

as people were rushing to the Olympics

and all shouted, "No, no!

Couldn't she find a better time?"

In China a housewife

borrowing a large kettle from her neighbor

promises to return it

in another life.
These people and many others stretch behind me in a line:

I'm like Darius' army gathering troops

wherever he went—

carts and cattle like dust clouds on both sides of the road

(otherwise how would we feed ourselves?),

the smells of animals, incense and spice,

camels, coins and dust.
And yet the war hasn't taken place.

There's no proof that death exists.

I remove my glove, the shell that covers me,

the sheath with my sword, I hold out my bare hand.

The caravan is ever farther behind.

--Grete Tartler