First Responder
April 18 2013


It was the second bomb
that crushed
my spirits.

Desperately wanting to believe
in the triumph of good, over evil
I seized on the sight of people
swarming in
to help.
Unskilled, unprepared
unfazed by blood,
giving comfort
if nothing else.

Who were taken
in the second blast.

And the men with stunted souls
who feel no pain, but their own
I can only hope
are eternally damned,
whatever one's theology.
As little solace
as this might grant.

A pressure cooker
set to explode.
A simple utensil
stoking distrust
in the everyday
the unknowable other.
But the pressure builds up,
I cannot contain
the numbing refrain
of atrocity.

Reading headlines
it's easy to forget
the 99%,
who, like us, stumble through
unhistoric lives,
well-intentioned
our minor transgressions
unworthy of news.
Overwhelmed by the few
who hate,
claiming attention
dispensing death.
And easy to forget
how certain they'll suffer
in some self-inflicted hell,
justice, or not.
And forget, as well
how such ugly destruction
is redeemed,
by the many others
rushing in
to help,
no second thoughts.

How easily I fall
into despair,
the gall
of impotent rage
corroding away
at my marrow.
And so, how fiercely I cling
to each selfless act,
no matter how futile, or small,
how dutiful
or daring.

As if one good man
could reach out a hand
and repair the world.

April 15 2013, 2 bombs went off at the finish line of the storied Boston marathon. 3 were killed (so far, including an 8 year old boy) and well over 100 gravely wounded, whose injuries included amputated limbs. They were constructed of everyday kitchen pressure cookers, lethally fortified with nails and ball bearings, intended to maximally maim as well as kill.

This poem was written 3 days later, at which time there were no claims of responsibility, and no idea whether this was the deranged act of a lone wolf, or a more highly organized and ideological act of terror. But either way, I don't think the ultimate resolution of this tragedy will alter the intent of the poem.

The 2 bombs detonated 10 seconds apart. I suspect, because they came so close, there was a minor glitch in synchronization. But one can't help but wonder about intent, since there has been a pattern in other terrorist incidents of intentionally consecutive blasts, a tactic calculated to kill first responders. Whether in this case it was accident or intent, and as horrible as this second wave of killing, it reminds me that the vast majority do not wantonly and unfeelingly destroy lives: they rush in to help, with no thought for their own safety or the gruesome scene.

The headlines give a skewed view of human evil: the bad things and the bad guys scream out; while all the small anonymous acts of goodness go unacknowledged. And it was because of the 2nd blast that the role of first responders -- both the professionals and bystanders -- became especially prominent. As I felt myself sink into despair, this widespread demonstration of altruism and selflessness became a lifeline, an antidote and counter-balance to the evil that comes to seem omnipresent and immutable. It's not only that bad things make headlines ("if it bleeds, it leads", as the the hoary journalistic cliché has it), it's the nature of human memory: negative things are much more likely to stick with us. Which is sensible, from an evolutionary point of view: remembering where the lions are is much more conducive to survival than remembering where you can see the most beautiful sunset. So we are descended from those who were best at remembering the bad. (The rest, I'm afraid, were eaten!)

So I am grateful to the commentators who pointed out that it took 1 bad person to do this, while at the exact same time hundreds of people were reflexively acting with bravery and selflessness.

There is a concept in Judaism that has great resonance here; the concept of tikkun olam: the human responsibility to fix what is wrong with the world. Which presumes that things can be repaired -- a reassuring thought to someone as pessimistic, misanthropic, and nihilistic as me!