On Tuesday, July 31, 2001, Theresa Wolfwood posted on an art and peace list to which jeanne belongs:

Dear Friends, I am sending out a poem I wrote two years ago, after attending a hearing about the use of our seabed and land for a maritime weapons testing range at Nanoose Bay, near Victoria, BC, CANADA. Our efforts failed this time, and the USA navy comes frequently in nuclear-powered and nuclear armed warships, to test their underwater weapons systems. The judge was totally unsympathetic and considered us troublemakers. I remember the guard with fondness and hope.

Sorry I am not able to scan in a photo of my Hiroshima banner that I displayed last year in Tampere.

In peace, Theresa

On Tuesday, July 31, 2001, jeanne wrote:

Theresa, may I put your poem up on my site, http://www.csudh.edu/dearhabermas, so my students can read it? I'll have about 200 this Fall. Haven't been posting because I'm trying to get the site ready for Fall.

love and peace, jeanne

And on Tuesday, July 31, 2001, Theresa answered:

Dear Jeanne, Yes, of course! Please put my brief explanation as well, to situate the context. The poem was published in my collection "Porphyry" last year.

And here is Theresa' s poem:

The Security Guard

by Theresa Wolfwood

A tall, sandy, young man
he loped over to us, friendly
like a golden retriever, came
to greet us at the slick USA chain hotel.
He knew we'd come for the hearing.
- I'm security to keep the peace,
not just for the judge, but you too.
worked ten years
a policeman
on the streets of Vancouver.
I saw things I don't want
to remember.
I hate violence
I hope this hearing will be peaceful-
he turned to leave

-time to go in and get set up -
then
- Don't tell them I said it
but, give them Hell
I get the creeps just thinking
about those nukes out there.
we left the sun and walked into our
shadows
to assemble
in the gloom of judgement
a dusty, sunless room
the "hearing officer"
a judge
with a mind empty of metaphor
crammed with legal minutae
his words were sharp silica,
erosion against our passion,
for him even our logic was
too remote, our love of light, of life,
irrelevant
to the legislation.
assaulted by his
letters of the law,
we spoke and left.
we breathed again in the sun outside
said goodbye to
our peaceful guard
indifferent to our haste,
he talked

- once
I knew a Japanese woman
in Vancouver,
she had really
unusual tattoos,
one day
I asked her about them -
his words blew past me
as I tried to get away
going home.
then -
she told me -
these are
not tattoos
but
the pattern
of the
kimono
I was wearing
the day
they
dropped
the bomb
on
Hiroshima.

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