My Friend, the Enemy

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My friend is the daughter
of an enemy. She is supposed
to be despised, too, yet she
is my friend.
It is easier to have
an enemy you do not know.

Her family prays differently
than we do, their house of worship
looks strange to us, yet
we share the same God
so I ask, “How can they be
our enemy?”

What is an enemy?
People whisper behind
their hands tales of war
inflamed by media unfamiliar
with truth, stories children
should not hear yet
some children live.

My friend and I do not
know how to be enemies.
We play and laugh
share treats and dolls
hug at the end of the day
as we go to homes that
are different, yet not really.

I think I won’t have
enemies when I grow up.
It’s too hard to hate
someone you love.

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