a poem for brutal holidays

the sky explodes and it sounds like
the world was created by
lost men
who nearly died on the salt sea
but, living,
planted bullets in the flesh and soil
and grew up a world of metal
and rage

boom blast it surrounds me
and inside I quiver
is it gunshots
automatic, bursting through
the bass in the club
is it suicide at the door
car metal slicing through
humans who believed in god

stray death
or just the celebration of it

i looked up in awe
when i was a child
all the colors
inside the body it is dark
until, pulled open
red sprays and eggplant
acidic nauseous droplets
swallowed diamonds
what was i learning

bombs bursting in air
make you gasp
and feel wonder
and you survive
but no one else does
you win the right to pay
into a system that tries every day
to kill you dead

tell me a way that
bombs, or borders, can mean love
can grow our souls
can pull us into a vast future
worth all of this miracle
am i a child still
to want all this life
and to only celebrate
explosions of joy

* for that time i sat in a bathroom last year, singing songs to comfort finn, who was trembling at the sound of fireworks.

* for my friends who remember being attacked every time the explosions come.

* for every human for whom the sound of bombs bursting in air is the last thing they heard.

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