There’s a war I’ve never lived
somewhere within me
made of stories reluctantly shared
and scraps of images carefully collected;
one person flees and millions flee with him
as I hear the sound of shuttered glass
and two girls crying in Gaza.
There’s a torso by the tree
and sirens yelling on July 15-
grandmas jasmine knew no war and kept on smelling
while her bed was burning.
They say, bullets were hitting men and oranges
and the stream of blood and juice is still running
when they sleep-
footprints left behind
to say goodbye
they say, a family secret; she was raped.
and all these stories come to life- war is war.
I can’t tell them apart;
you run from the bullets
and my feet are full of blisters
your baby crying and I have no milk
your home stolen and I have no land,
I’m giving you these words
praying in a God I don’t believe in;
may you be the last person dead from
the wars we’ve yet to live.