The Visitors Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The visitors
A knock on my entrance door, I opened up
and seven people came in one of them looked at me
like she should be in love, perhaps she remembered
me 40 years back in time. The house had been rebuilt
the steps leading up to the second floor were outside
the girl when they marched out kissed my hand
and I thought: am I a pope now?
She looked like the Palestinian girl - unarmed- had been
shot by a female sniper who did this foul deed in
the name of her country she had been toldPalestinians
were out to kill them, the female shooter was defending
her blood dripping country.
I knew the six others too one was my brother the other my sister and the rest old friends but none
of them recognised me.
The ladder up to the second landing was long I saw
them disappearing into a cloud closed my door I was
suddenly cold, went in and sat by the fire.