Where are you going? The question
burns in my throat. Agonizing pain as if
I have swallowed a spear. I need to know
where you are going. Are you travelling to a place
where little girls’ souls are draped across power lines
like ill-fitting clothes on clotheslines, where no one
cares to wear them anymore? Are you going
to the place where skulls burnished with brain matter
are used to sip tea? Men wearing singlets, holding
wooden-carved rifles smile and through the holes in
their cracked and rotting teeth it’s possible to see
destruction has been the plan all along. Will you tear down
all that the others have built, leave behind the burning embers
that scald the tongue when you try to remember? Isn’t it
easier to forget how it once felt to have the warm moistness
of a nectarine resting on your tongue while you reclined
in the sun, its fingertips reaching down to touch that spot
on your neck? Can you see the trees swaying in the wind,
yielding so easily, as if though they have no spine?
They say the war will be civil, blood shed like a dripping faucet
left running overnight instead of like festering hate
has been left in the sun so long, it now smells like death.
Will you ever not dream of the scent of burning flesh, hear
the crackling of flesh and bones as if the world is nothing more
than a fireplace? Will you not ever wake to find that screams
fill up more than the spaces in your mind, they surround you,
menacingly they advance on you until you finally break?
And then where will you go?
Peace & Love,