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A Bloody Turn

Photo courtesy of Al Jazeera

You say we are all traumatized by this genocide,

that we are responsible as well, that we cannot hide

under books or pillows from drones, fighter jets

and two thousand pound bombs. But what can

 

we do with the fat slices of pie served in these

fifty states? Who shall we heal with comforting

lullabies where no bombs fall although this is

the rub, they do, they do. They are falling

 

in our minds. They are pulping hearts broken

into bits, shrapnel flowing in every artery,

blocking up the works, death hungry and waiting

eagerly for blood stoppered, shut off, sealed.

 

My blood. Your blood. Our blood bank bleeds

over, keeling, comatose, drained, dying.

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