It’s the end of the year and I’m hunting cosmopolitan sales,
while girls are hunted under fear stained sheets.
The following year holds nothing new here.
The patriots continue to assert our empire abroad, militarizing broken states.
Fingers pulsing on triggers, pulsing hearts and last pulses lingering
suspended in finite breaths,
breathing in polverized
brethren- life turned to dust, death.
War will not ravage Amerikkkan soil next year–
that would alter predestined first world trends.
The cadence of bombs won’t clamp my brothers throats in their sleep, they’ll continue to dream in kind colors.
One will start school and learn about the vastness of the world.
I will not tell him how many bodies lie under the Mediterranean Sea.
The ocean never stopped rising after the 17th century.
I will not point to the places on the atlas where hatred burns holes,
indicating generations of oblivion.
My bloodline will remain intact,
we will still exist, like this.
My contemporaries won’t break the cycle of silence,
they will sneer at my urgency.
My humanitarian 15 dollar monthly donations can’t stop the killing,
though I know of the blood that paints Syrian streets
with echoes of humble pleas to life and dignity.
They say we can’t stop the dying,
we’ve got to learn and live and succeed.
But I can’t sleep.
How to jostle this world out of obsessive greed?
World leaders concede to massacres abroad, meddling in coups while bruised babies wonder across sister’s breast, if their father’s leg is really missing, if mother will come back having escaped the bloodthirsty grip of the agent of state, with his grim face, with his haunting grace.
I awake in the night screaming for Aleppo and Screaming for Palestinia and Screaming for
I inherit broken Nicaragua, where my mother screamed as her grandmother collapsed screaming where the same Entity, Concept, Government massacred my revolution poised uncles and raped the women who make me possible here now, while I lay screaming.
I trace my hands, I calm the electricity in my bones…existing…still.
Holding close the memories of the children, and women, and the frightened since hate’s origin
Holding closely the places where timelines bury bloodlines
Where pachamama swallows her children back into the ground lifetimes and time again.
Spine concave, eyes drowning in fury, arms clinging to torso, existing while my sisters and brothers cease to.
There is no song to sing tonight, there is no rhythm to to soothe the panic in my lungs
Liminal spirits engulf my plane in darkness.
My sisters and brothers scream
Flesh in fire
Conclude another year.