Sitting in this quiet library,
looking out at redwoods
taller than its four stories,
it’s hard to imagine
bombs falling on Tehran,
blood and rubble,
the terrified cry of a new orphan.
Harder perhaps for her
to picture this —
crows instead of missiles
flying across blue sky,
a town so lovely
monarch butterflies
choose to winter here,
mothers and fathers
like mine
who grow old.
The Kingdom of Enough 