“I Used to Love Christmas Movies…,” “Friday Morning 2:00 am,” and “Chasing History”

“I Used to Love Christmas Movies…,” “Friday Morning 2:00 am,” and “Chasing History”

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Photo by Austin Chan on Unsplash

I Used to Love Christmas Movies...

I have been watching White Christmas for 65 years so

tonight, the first film shot in VistaVision and Technicolor

rolls onto my tv screen; but the evening news, with far more

advanced tools, has begun to seep into my holiday films ...

 

When Hamas attacked Jerusalem in October,

Israel Defense Forces immediately began reprisals. 

For them, the intifadas and brief wars in recent history

have turned déjà vu news into all-out war.

 

In the dining car of a train, two couples in a booth

sing and play games with

snow white napkins suddenly

go black and turn into ashes as fragments of fire

and debris rain on them from a bombed house nearby.

 

Two men casually walk near a red new England barn

but

the ground they walk on is sandy, the air hot, and

surrounding buildings have been bombed beyond recognition.

 

Later, while the stars sing and dance under bright

stage lights, the

pink mist” of the swirling particles

of exploded human bodies is still visible.

 

Santa appears in his fat jolly bearded best, gayly waving

to parade watchers of all ages who have lined the street

to celebrate

a brief ceasefire, and the exchange of

two dozen hostages; who pass foreign aid workers

with food and medicine for those who remain,

whose hope is threadbare but persistent, whose homeland

is a battlefield, and whose hospitals are cemeteries. 

 

It is not Christmas yet, so Love actually has not been re-born yet;

but for now, a romantic comedy, set within a month of Christmas,

features ten separate stories depicting ten different aspects of love,

 

We are reporting from the rubble of buildings, and homes

that are no longer alive, from horror that ripped

like lightening through both sides of this war...  

Peace

not until George Baily appreciates

himself, his family, and friends, through some flashbacks:

since 8th Century BCE,

Palestine has been controlled by Ancient Egypt, Persia,

Alexander the Great and his successors, the Roman Empire,

Muslim caliphates, Crusaders, the Ottoman Empire,

 

the United Kingdom, numerous treaties, governments,

and boundary lines.

 

A small bell-shaped Christmas ornament joyfully rings

the news that an angel has got his wings.

 

Three thousand years of war has resolved nothing.  Neither

the conquerors nor the conquered are ever blameless,

since victory seems to change hands so frequently.   

 

The language of Peace 

 has not been heard in this region for thousands of years.

Subtitles and interventions have merely bought

short-term solutions. War does not ever stop war...

it merely goes on hiatus until the bloody sequel appears.

Friday Morning, 2:00 a.m.

sleeping through the evening news

Explosions

keep my head low

breathe

Fire and smoke below

Run don’t stop

Get to the roof

I  drag myself up the stairs

high adrenalin,

Lungs straining

deep coughs

I must keep moving

until I can rise from the couch

The evening news program explodes into my room

ands grabs me by the tips of my white knuckles

It is more real than a dream

The tv is off now,

there is silence

and I am comfortable

The couch is a recliner

my back is relaxed,

my legs are up

been a long day,

just getting to this quiet time

has its price

It is another episode , this one

a tv news feature

on aggression, war, and terror;

a reality check for people like me

privileged, to live on the outside

of the tv news

Chasing History

I keep a steady pace,

twenty-six steps and several generations

from the curb to the library door.

I look around me

to be sure that no one follows.

The library is cavernous, empty, quiet,

and seldom used. The Council puts news on

screens and speakers throughout the city,

and answers all our questions for us.

Anxious.  Beyond a two-story high door,

a man smiles from a dark wood desk;

for him at least, my visit is welcome.

The library itself is a historical building

only open to a few select scholars.

Second floor rear. Dim light.

A sign labels contents for each row.

My target is a book on

(women’s health)

These 20th century books

are branded feminist, banned

for positive responsible content,

and viewpoints that affirm

the radical notion that

women are free, and

a democratic society of free people

demands that we must claim

our entitlement to

reproductive rights

women’s health,

respected homosexuality,

Certain that I am alone,

I start to read.

“I am not pregnant, but I’ve been feeling

strange. The fish I ate last night

didn't settle well with me…”

I had told my boss.

But I don't know if I'm pregnant or not.

I am worried, Jack left four weeks ago,

and I just don't know anything about

being pregnant or unpregnant. But

I am here, and I am glad I found

the last “public” library in Florida.

Now I just don’t know what to do next.

About the Author

Joanne Alfano

Joanne Alfano’s collection dreams drumbeats heartbeats (2022), lives at the intersection of memory, anxiety, and hope. Her poems explore her spiritual journey, her struggle with obesity, and her impressions of political and social upheaval. Many of them have been published in numerous anthologies and journals, most recently The Whitman 205, Poets Anonymous “Gatherings”, The Dew Drop, Her Words, NOVA Bards, and The 10th Anniversary Bards Against Hunger Anthology. After a career in systems development, she retired to Florida to enjoy family, writing, reading, and watching classic movies.