A Handful of Haikus

         

Photo courtesy of Hannah Ebling-Artz

             I was recently surprised to be introduced to John Paul Lederach’s book, The Moral Imagination.  Reading some of his work for my January-term Theology and Ethics of Reconciliation, he quickly became a new favorite—as a peacebuilding practitioner who has worked with transforming conflict across the globe, there is a certain grounded realness to his theological reflection that is pretty darn compelling.  In the chapter I read from Moral Imagination, however, he writes on not conflict, not on peacebuilding or reconciliation, but, rather, haikus!  He asserts that, in its ability to “embrace complexity through simplicity,” the writing of haikus “becomes a pathway to peacebuilding…For the process of paying attention to poetry, listening to a voice that seems to come from nowhere in the midst of turbulent inner seas, is very much like sorting through the storms of protracted conflicts” (66, 67).  Feeling challenged and inspired, I decided to try my hand at it!  [However, I was rather terrible at limiting myself to the whole 5-7-5 syllables part (i.e. the whole point of haikus, alas!), so I somewhat cheated and dedicated each of the poems to the person/ experience whose essence I was seeking to convey.]  

 

Spanish, he teaches.

Stories of laughter they share.

Beans, for us, she cooks.

For José and Rosa, who so warmly invited us into their homes.  Who looked past out limited Spanish and showered us with limitless hospitality.   

 

In shackles they stand.

Broken Border.  Broken “law.”

Humans can break too.

For the 67 men and 3 men we saw sentenced in the span of 35 minutes via Operation Streamline in Tucson.  And for our nation.  May we soon learn to care more about upholding the dignity of humans than for the sanctity of administrative ordinances.

 

Candles on the Wall

Lit for the youth extinguished.

José, remembered.

For José Antonio, who, though killed at the age of 16 by a Border Patrol agent from the U.S. side of the Wall, lives on in the memories of the Nogales community.  Candles are painted on the Mexico side of the Wall where he died, and it is here that community activists hold a vigil once a month.

 

A child’s plane flies to

the Wall’s other side.  Passing,

hands touch, eyes meet.  Peace.

For Maricruz (one of our BorderLinks leaders) and her four year-old granddaughter.  Who reminded us that our interconnectivity knows no bounds and that it is only in re-humanizing those on both sides of the Border— even/ especially Border Patrol agents!— that true reconciliation can be attained.

 

Prayer, he says, shapes souls.

In jumpsuit orange he shows me

A world now opened.

For a Stewart Detention Center detainee (and friend), who knows how to dream bigger in detention that I do here, in this place of privilege.