Blood in the Fields of Peace

You were singing when the planes
                                                      bent silver
          marking a red shadow in your hair.
                   So close
                             death kissed me.
I remember to this breath
                                 the ironic chorus
how bullets rang
          olives raining from your hands.
They never told us
                   bodies spray dye like ink
brains explode like puppets
          grinning from unfamiliar boxes

We carried you down
                                 cool concrete stairs
                   song clotting in your throat.
Our doctors had no magic to revive you.
                                           In your blood
I went to the discotheque
                      to dance death away
                                                       until tomorrow

Next morning
tasting blood in the fields of peace
                     I sought a pattern
                     among the olives

                                          but could read no future

Rob Baum completed her post-doctorate in gender, gesture and ritual in the Middle East, and has since then taught in Israel, New Zealand and Australia. Her phenomenological research includes the book Female Absence: Women, Theatre and Other Metaphors (Peter Lang, 2003), and articles on Palestinian ritual, race/gender issues, Holocaust trauma and identity politics. A Senior Lecturer at Monash University, Rob trains disabled artists, and performs in movement improvisation, theatre and circus. Her plays emphasise strong, desirable roles for women.

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