Saturday, March 28, 2015

Question for the war's son

On the recorder, his voice is faint
a mixture of rubble and shrapnel
this is the third time I have seen fall the tall Minaret
God doesn't live in houses made of lime and sand- I tell him
but neither does God send elephants to fairly parade the skies
one cannot, I suppose argue with the logic of God nor the believer's
after the pause he says he can now see the stars
through the roof of my bedroom, I once stuck stickers 
florescent, shining with sunlight- which I am sure doesn't lack here
Nor would the rain, spared into being for the months of misery and transition
till the roofs bridge themselves once more into effect
I turn to ask him, lastly how he feels
fine as long as I can still play under iron without scratching my leg 
I throw to him caution of the salty, chemically seasoned air
he assures me, faintly that he is made from rubble,
because he's brown he says like the sand and the lining of earth
it is you I am worried about. You will never get used to this
How many times have you seen bullets in the night sky?
how many times can your house fall onto your head?

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