I wonder and I often weep

When I see children fast asleep,

While shells and missiles thunder down

On streets and building in their town.

 

They’ve grown accustomed to the noise

Of their enemy’s grotesque toys;

Oblivious to every bang,

As though some modest church bell rang.

 

They run to schoolyards, as they must,

Past dwellings crumbling to dust,

And all, at le...

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The bright blue sky: a memory

Of our infancy, bathed in light.

In a cloudless recollection,

We dare to revisit those days,

When, brim full of freedom from care,

We ran and pedalled like the wind,

Unfazed, it seems, on our stick legs,

Licking clean our knocks and grazes.

Old snaps solidify our smiles.

This lost land of the all-possible

Soon dimmed its way to school and...

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There was no bullying at my school, It was called dodgeball—oh, so cruel! We’d throw balls with great might, Hitting targets just right, And the game? Well, it was nobody's rule!

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Bodies are burning their oil lamps brightly

from the windows overlooking the church  

their silhouettes shape-shift on the bedroom walls

as they move from room to room,

neither stand still long enough for you 

to grasp who or what they are,

televisions flicker in accord

as if planned in some way, it’s strangely romantic

as if part of a passion play – and I am the only one h...

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there is a splinter in the pad of my thumb.
I don’t know how or when it happened, 
but do know where.

our house has no floors thanks to the hurricanes. 
the bottom is concrete;
it collects dust faster than we can sweep.
the top is subfloor;
we have to wear shoes inside to prevent splinters.

my little sister forgot.
one got stuck in her foot before school.
she was only getting out of ...

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