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Peace of Pawns

One square poised on the board unimportant, overlooked by Bishop's blessing and Knight's March. As Queen's cut circles round lost rice fields, the rain runs clear off curved, stone tiles. The luckiest children play here in exile barefoot in pure mud or asleep on woven reeds their moments unfettered, ruleless; unlimited on an island of green in a monochrome sea. Here, they rest. The peace of pawns who never learned to play.
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Written by
valerie-gillis
American
Published
Apr 29, 2012
Lines·Words
20·72
Notes

I wrote this poem while traveling in Japan. I passed a little wooden hut in the middle of a series of rice fields that struck me because it was so out of context with the industrial cities I was traveling through. I thought about all the wars and conflict Japan has seen, and wondered how long that little wooden hut had been standing there.

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