I sit at my machine, the early morning news still ringing in my ears.
An earnest voice acknowledges the land our fathers took.
Now some attempts are made at reparations and apologies.
That’s good, I think, long overdue.
Then images of war, of starving children, a wasteland, fills the screen.
I hear the cries of anguish as families watch their homes bulldozed,
Their olive groves cut down, their schools, mosques, churches, whole villages demolished,
To make room for settlers from away.
I wonder, how did this happen on my watch,
Even as I remember how we thought it good
To give a persecuted people a homeland of their own.
Not thinking it was not ours to give, or worse to take away a homeland from another
And send them into exile, to ghettos unsustainable.
I sew these blankets, destined to bring relief,
But cannot stop my thoughts, my guilt, my grief,
Remorse so heavy on my heart.
How can we make this right,
Resolve where we have brought injustice to a people so maligned.
How many quilts will be enough to say I’m sorry.