Somebody's Darling

Somebody's Darling

I wake to the news
and am reminded
of a song
from the Civil War,

Victorian poetry,
full of golden curls,
kisses,
pale skin
mystery
and tender loss.

"Somebody's darling, somebody's pride."

Yes,
All of those mothers' children
Cherished,
sparking dreams
feeding hopes
labor of love,
and sleepless nights.

No matter
if they be Syrian, Egyptian,
Muslim, Christian,
gay, straight,
Sikh, Sunny,
Democrat, Republican, anarchist,
rich, poor.
boy, girl,
or at different points
on the great, warring
white, brown, golden, russet, black spectrum
of skin.

Infinite in variety,
the stuff
of some mother's labor,
hopes
and dreams

The lyric is truly Victorian,
Mothers and sons,
No mention of loving fathers,
beloved daughters,
not feminist at all,

but on this morning of wars,
political and physical,
of guns, gods and factions
food for children cut from a wealthy nation's budget,
fear,
hatred
and greed,

150 years later,
the kernel of truth
is there.

"Somebody's darling, somebody's pride
Who'll tell his mother,
where her boy
died."