another child died today and/ i'm not doing anything/ someone mispronounced my name today/ i'm not doing anything/ inside every shell is the echo of what used to live there/ reminding us/ this is how the disappearance sounds/ reminding me/ my body's/ sanctuary is not/ your sanctuary/ mine made of words and yours/ made of/ things i cannot ever understand/ you exceed my grasp/ carapace beyond my skin’s reach/ oh, yours made of confinement/ children do not know/ what their body is/ until someone calls it what it is not/ a fountain/ a threat/ someone calls you/ collateral/ someone calls you/ crushed little stars/ i call you family/ i call you dead and never/ coming back/ and i'm not doing anything/ and someone says/ i wanna see the whole world/ and someone excises your graveyard/ from the tour/ and someone tells me/ “as an artist, you have the privilege of transmuting/ your pain into/ beauty/ it is your responsibility”/ i wanna/ tell them/ go fuck yourself/ want to tell them to try and/ see the whole/ picture, even the parts that are sickening/ want them to watch the/ world/ they know transmuted into/ bloodied rubble/ refuses to answer your call/ i want this but/ i don't know how/ so i say nothing/ i look myself in the face and breathe/ i remind myself/ i'm gonna pay rent/ nothing survives in a vacuum/ nothing survives when the air/ is sucked out/ oh, a city is only as hospitable/ as its walls allow it to be/ as a broken bottle of gin/ oh, a ship in a bottle sails nowhere/ no matter/ how meticulous its scale/ how precise its painting/ a ship in a bottle sings/ i wanna see the whole world/ and never moves/ oh, someone had to pluck those stars from heaven/ someone had to crush them/ and the stars don’t know they are more beautiful/ as powder/ they are too busy being/ dead/ a thought i had that i’m too afraid to share/ is that if i could trade my entire life/ for one more second of yours/ i would do it in an instant/ i’d live a thousand lives so you might live/ a thousand seconds/ i’d beg/ would you kill me, jerusalem/ one more second for bayan abu khammash/ kill me, jerusalem/ for ahmad jihad al-aydi/ kill me, jerusalem/ another second for moath ziad soori/ i’ll ask again and again, jerusalem/ i’ll beg with the bones of my knuckles/ oh, swallow me broken/ spit them out whole/ in the next life, in the second you return/ i will be there/ let me kiss your forehead/ let me smooth your hair/ wherever we are/ whoever we might be/ come find me

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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