if the rubble had a voice
it would console a corpse under it
aching for the worms to eat it up
lest another missile scatter it
to dogs that abandoned faithful
in the famine

if the rubble had a bulldozer
it would block the military bulldozer come back
to crush a captive who might have survived
had the rescue teams
whose members we’re now looking for
on the lists of missing persons
found him

if the rubble had the good fortune
to become again the house it once was
its people would take refuge there in peace
nothing like the peace that’s grown old on pulpits

if the rubble had the power to move
it would pile itself around a tent
to keep the rain from seeping in
and touching a child dreaming of school

if the rubble could restore me
to what I was before the war
I wouldn’t be swapping the copyeditor for the lawyer
I’m consulting as I write these lines
so they don’t detain me
on charges of belonging to a part of myself
whose heart is beating in the south