|    |  by 
        Barb Adams
  And so we waitrestless
 try not to think too much
 about what we just did
 
 Some grieve the means
 Some gloat the end
 
 Justify it as liberation, 
        dear
 Now they are free
 to die in the dark
 thirsty, dusty
 
 The why was a lie
 when that doesn't work
 try another
 
 As the reality of war
 drifts off like a thunderhead
 our gaze shifts
 
 A blank stare, blink, numb
 on to the next one
 back to the busy
 uneasy of the day
 
 
 .   Barb 
        Adams, a singer, grower 
        and member of the web of 
        life on Vashon Island. |