Paris, 13 November 2015

The hiders: cheaters with suicide-belted access
to ethereal hiding places — traceless
but for grieving faces searching sidewalks.

The seekers: police, army, press corps, beloved
— my son in front of the TV. I try to shove
the new rules into our silent conversation.

The Bataclan echoes, Come out! Come out
wherever you are! but nobody can breakout
from their infinite hiding spots.

Us and them. We’re all entangled in
an eternal endgame. Nobody wins.
Together, we’re all it.


With an MA in French from Middlebury College, Elizabeth considers herself lucky to reside in Switzerland where she can live daily life in French while thriving on English as a writer, teacher of English as a Foreign Language, chair of Pernessy Poets and active member of the Geneva Writers’ Group.


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18 Responses

  1. Sydney Caitlin Howell

    A resounding “yes”, Liz. It is comforting to have even hard truths named.

  2. Roderick Vincent

    Very witty poem, Elizabeth. Powerful to juxtapose a kid’s games against terrorism in that it is all so childish if you lift off in a space rocket and soak in the earth as a small blue marble floating serenely in the blackness and see we are all one and together here…So I loved the last line

  3. Jenny Lind Schmitt

    This poem captures the horrible sadness of this event. Hide and seek – what a perfect, ironic metaphor for our disbelief in the face of tragedy. Thank you.


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