We arrived again. An indeterminable

number of arrivals. We arrived as witness as

salvation as storm. We arrived as storm as thunder

as the closed sky before rainfall. We arrived as hunter

as loaded rifle as the body that sharpens and strokes.

What Leader took from us we scorched from our minds. Every

syllable of love every uttered phrase of hope. Our

pasts a city under siege a neighborhood torched. We

flame throwers we bomb builders we cloaked soldiers light

the night. Who were we in this world before Leader. Nothing.

Read more great poetry from Brooklyn Magazine print edition here.  


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here