6 July 1999
Jana Russ

King Hussein visits the Israeli girl

This wounded girl crumpled before an apologetic king,
her dark curls stark against stucco hospital wall,
looks like Rossetti's bewildered Virgin facing Gabriel
--asking, why me?
Does she wonder how her simple schoolyard suddenly
sprouted a field of wild microphones,
metal seed-pod heads stalking ever closer?

Her little face, worthy of a Pre-Rafaelite,
tilts toward the man in the silk kaffiya,
washed in the babel of reporters,
the disco flash of cameras
--smile this way, honey
--shake hands with his Majesty.

Her father, a Joseph with dirty fingernails,
stands frozen, awed by his own flesh--
this momentary princess crowned by a stray bullet--
while her mother swiftly calculates movie rights and
the value to be squeezed from politic conscience.

When the limos pull the crowd away,
who will have learned and what lesson?