SOMETIMES, THE WATER WILL NOT CHANGE INTO WINE
Eric writes what I won't -- can't -- on Qana (aka Cana):
By Eric Gamalinda
There's a room that no one enters.
Inside that room there's a woman
who's been absorbed by all that space.
Inside that woman there's a generation
no longer used to miracles,
there's a child whose gestures
are extinguished, already null.
Take another look:
underneath the rubble a room,
inside the room a woman,
inside the woman a parable
of providence already out
of date, the gift of the marvelous,
one evening drunk with love.
a room, a woman, something small
and without a voice, who will perhaps
still find among the ruins
this ramshackle earth that suffers
from suffering. For peace is not
what it used to be, it is the future
made perfect by absence,
by obliteration. Our cruelty
is efficient, precise.
Look closer: the water
will not change to wine.