You are not on call…

This month, Anne and Liz talk about "When we are tired in the fire, we sing", and Anne tries valiantly to get Liz to stick to the planned topics.

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The firemen got paid! It was an old news story! Good triumphs in the world! Research skills, however...

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And the poem, from the end, if you’re looking for it, is here:

you are not on call

for the pain of the world

I know you feel every hit of the hammer, beating

plowshares into swords,

and people into plowshares

and every time you fail to step between

the blow and its target

the injustice is sewn into your bones, too

and so

when the hammer rises, you must rise with it

raising your voice your eyes your awareness your body

whatever part of you that can be given as an offering

you cannot stay this way forever

sewn to this cacophony of blows

every movement of yours a follow

until your body is owned by the drumbeat of

the raising of weapons

until your days string together in a stuttering heartbreak of rage

and you cannot

catch

breath

but this is what you promised

to those who don’t get to chose whether or to to show up for the fight

to those whose very bodies thrust them into the ring,

you promised

that you would hold nothing back

I know

except, you cannot be on call

for the pain of the world

it is not work that can be done

without sleep

when we said that people are too sacred to be

beaten into plowshares 

or swords

we meant you

we need you

for the fight

and we need you for all the things

that are less, and more, than fighting

we need you to be ready to listen in the soft way earth listens

to rain in the hours before dawn

to be tender, to cradle precious things, to hold the smell of dew in your hair

to hum the song that flowers 

will rise up through the earth to hear

I need you 

to stay

in love with the world