Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Saturday, August 02, 2008

If I had to . . .

If I had to,
I could put my hand
through melted glass
like Alice, and go where
roses grow white
and are painted red
as the Queen shrieks
in the garden. Fearful of
my own head, I would
paint as fast as any
artist could
until the Queen is silent.

f I had to, I could
forget about who is
in the White House, just who
invoked presidential powers
to send in anonymous thousands,
so many to die.

Like an escape artist, I read
the paper fitfully,
hoping not to see
those numbers,
over 4,000 dead,
over five years of war.

If I had to, I could
walk countless miles,
forego imported bananas,
wear another sweater in winter,
turn the lights off
one by one,
think about polar bears
on melting ice floes.
I could stop
driving my car, if I had to.

A Sunday Scribbling prompt: If I had to . . .