One war is not finished before the next starts,
not a million miles away but here in my room
henchmen carry limp hostages in their teeth
like wolves with paralyzed prey, tongues
cut out. They’re bringing back the guillotines
into sacred lands, the pride of the philistines.
I reach my arms out to crying children,
children with bloody bodies and no mothers,
hold them against my wet maternal face in this
triangulation of victims, barbarians, news-watchers.
Try to remember the other war, how interminable,
have our tears run dry for that one? In our
trifling infighting and distractions, we look past
humanity, disperse to our estranged corners.
