TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

I’m a poet, not a statesperson. I could do better at keeping tabs on what our military is up to internationally, but I’ll be honest: There is a part of me that really doesn’t want to know.

When I do read up, I have the feeling like I’m watching a horror movie through the cracks between my fingers. I want to be informed, but I know the facts will both terrify and enrage me. After all, Donald Trump campaigned on the idea that electing him was the best way to avoid wars. He referred to himself as the “peace president” and openly complained that he hadn’t won a Nobel Peace Prize.

It would be funny … if it were a novel or doomsday film and not real life.

So, where are we at war? Iran, most recently. That invasion is called Operation Epic Fury, which is how I feel when I read about the moves that Donald Trump and Secretary of War Pete Hegseth are making as they claim to represent us, the American people, on the world stage. I think what most Americans want are better lives for Americans — affordable healthcare, education, and housing. More opportunities than previous generations had, not fewer.

More wars driving up costs and making us less safe? Not so much.

I’m sure you’ve also seen the news stories, or at least social media takes, theorizing on the potential for a military draft. I have a son, and surely many of you listening have sons, too. “Operation Epic Fury” is what I feel, as a mother, when I think about men like Trump and Hegseth possibly, someday, sending my son and yours needlessly into harm’s way.

Meanwhile, it’s spring. The earth feels set on creating more life. It’s sunny in central Ohio, and the Bradford Pears and the Redbud trees and the Magnolias are blooming. My yard is overrun with violets and dandelions. Later today my son — my only son — will mow it.

Today’s poem reminds me that the natural world is oblivious to our human drama. Despite our grief, the sun rises, the grass grows, the flowers open. We welcome this season and hope for a brighter one ahead.

Spring in War-Time
by Sara Teasdale

I feel the spring far off, far off,
     The faint, far scent of bud and leaf—
Oh, how can spring take heart to come
     To a world in grief,
     Deep grief?


The sun turns north, the days grow long,
     Later the evening star grows bright—
How can the daylight linger on
     For men to fight,
     Still fight?


The grass is waking in the ground,
     Soon it will rise and blow in waves—
How can it have the heart to sway
     Over the graves,
     New graves?


Under the boughs where lovers walked
     The apple-blooms will shed their breath—
But what of all the lovers now
     Parted by Death,
     Grey Death?

This poem is in the public domain.