Our sons are missing
But we are not crying
The land shakes, the smoke rises
In the soft evening blueness the sound of dishes clattering
together
Mixes with a child's laughter
A far off telephone rings
And the drone of airplanes drowns out the voices of
mothers
Calling their children home
But we are not crying
We are writing grocery lists
And doing laundry
And preparing meals
There is fire, chaos, searing grief
And yet we answer the long-distance calls with calm voices
Yes, everything is okay here. We are fine
But we are not fine
We have lost and lost and lost
And we don't even know what we have lost
My six-year-old looks up at me, her eyes half covered by her
lopsided sun hat
"Ima, we didn't go on our trip today because people died
today. People are sad because they lost their mothers, their
fathers, their children. So the Rav said we shouldn't go."
I look down at the knapsack packed with bathing suit, towel
and treats
The tears burn in my eyes
I turn away to stir the pot on the stove
I search for words
As I try to stop the tears
We are not crying
We are going on
But inside, beyond the hazy surface of an ordinary day
Our eyes look upwards
As we beg
Bring back our children
Return us toYou
Rebuild Your shattered Home
Because we are crying
And only You can hear
