Javascript is either disabled or not supported by this browser. This page may not appear properly.
Seattle Participants

Nancy Peacock

Soldier's Prayer

"Four South Koreans still bearing the scars of old bullet
wounds met with Pentagon officials yesterday,
seeking an accounting and compensation nearly 50 years
after they said U.S. troops came to their hamlet and
killed hundreds of civilian refugees early in the Korean
War....The Koreans flew to Washington from Cleveland,
where they prayed together with three U.S. veterans
in a church Tuesday."
-- Seattle Post-Intelligencer, November 13, 1999

Dear Lord, You know I can't erase
Their striking scars or fifty years of lies.
I close my eyes to hear You, and embrace
Their death-singed hearts, their trauma-focused lives.
I pray they learn the truth and that its salt
Helps them not simply blame and fault
But understand how triggers in our hearts,
Once pulled, can strafe a village silent, blood
From corpses spreading pools of scarlet mud
Through No Gun Ri.  Once murder starts,
It doesn't seem like murder.  So we learn
Again.  Their scars, Lord, sting.  Their stares still burn;
Their hearts shout shrapnel and echo shots.
Our marrow cures to wisdom.  Somehow love survives
Through bullet wounds, through eyes' black dots.
                                           -David D. Horowitz

Seattle Participants

Nancy Peacock


Peace is a full moon with a whole night ahead
of things you could do, but you don't have to.
Peace is lying with a blanket covering your toes
with the window closed as it cools on a March night;
a glass of cold lemonade at midnight with two 1,000 mg.
tabs of Vitamin C to keep the flu away; a dream that you
slept with the man who lives next door and neither of you
said a word about it to anyone; orange pekoe incense
circling the room reminding you of Southern California
groves before the housing developments uprooted them;
the ocean chorus singing waves of love
reaching for your feet as you walk the sand just out of reach
but you could get wet if you wanted, you are that close;
the man who says goodbye, wants you to stay longer,
to cut him carrots and wipe the bottom of wet plates
with a hand towel.  He thinks he might be able to sleep
next to you, to share a blanket or two.  He won't get angry
if you don't sleep all night.  Peace is the full moon shining
on his cheeks, his eyes fluttering in REM sleep when you rise to write.
                                             -Crysta Casey


let us cry together
join our tears
to heal
our common wound.

Let us birth together
across the rage
through the terror.

Let us feel together,
savor the life
of all our feelings
and live.

Let us breathe deep
each other
as we bare our pain
weep, shiver
and embrace
as we hold
the promise
far within.
         -Victor Hellberg