04.08.2020
The sun set on Lebanon tonight
Left in its wake is the sun’s blood’s bleeding flare,
&a toxic plume that will help you forget.
&2,000 years ago a wanderer thought she’d settled home
but now she walks again—
with feet priced in expired passports,
bleeding still through the glass below.
&I hope I never forget today,
&what people had to say.
I hope I remember that the world is built on pillars of sand,
&how money is something we created,
&how we keep building weapons that do destroy us.
&do kings not see the targets on their backs?
&do they not recognize their finger on the trigger?
—but I guess once you’ve shot down a sinking ship,
you choose to forget
for fear you may need to answer to God,
—or yourself.
I remember moving here and being struck that homes were built of wood.
Where I’m from, we build in concrete and steel.
&I remember thinking it’s because we were building to last,
&now I know we each build to outlast our threats.
&now I know the difference between wood and steel is the barrel of the gun,
&that homes last long enough to know what we’ve lost
&that shattered windows pierce the mind forever
—because memory outlasts the living.
But the wanderer has already begun walking
&what is a man without a country?
&what more is a country without women and men?
&I keep being told Tel Aviv is beautiful,
but have you forgotten its shadow?
&how their lives are a life sentence?
&are we still paying rent?
&what is worse:
Choosing to live in an open air prison?
or being taxed for it?
&I keep being told that the Phoenix does rise from ashes
&we have ashes to give
But what if we are not mythical creatures?
What if we are your children?
What if we are God’s children?
So before you tell me it gets better,
Tell me if at the end of this sentence is my wound and your knife,
&tell me if you will twist it again tonight?