An Injured Love

Last updated on: September 7, 2013 at 1:05 pm

September 7, 2013 by Kate Cousino

I wrote this a decade ago, during the lead-up to the Iraq War. Not much has changed in my feeling; I can still see no better answer to arguments for war than to love better where and how I can.
An Injured Love

Now another story, and this one
told in yet more stringent form
lines to hold the chaos of a storm,
and guide the sun.

For all about are echoes of a war.
Mind to mind, and striking heart to heart.
Tainting every separate art
and beating sore.

An injured love is hidden in the heat
of warring words in men inured to war,
in masses crying peace, all pity-poor
and booted feet.

Oh! Insufficient love, as Thomas said
is all of evil’s root unbeing:
our evil salt-dry eyes, unseeing,
must be led.

Love, the fickle heart knows, is unsweet –
it beats upon the barriers of the eyes
and looses blood, and rain. It shames all lies,
and bares clay feet.

So all feet must be bared, and washed in tears
the Magdalene’s service render to each other:
He who washes feet and calls you brother
conquers fear.