Sunday, July 21, 2013

Still Warm...

Yes, his blood had splattered across my legs
Still warm,
As those who could not find their son, brother or friend
pushed and crowded around the gurney
From the ambulance
Till the big metal doors
With more, many more, still warm
still dripping their blood, still not coagulated,
still behind these big metal doors
The blood splatters were of him
him, him and him
Gun shot to the head, to the chest, to the face
11…. a minute later
12…. 13…..
ambulances pulling in quietly, no sirens, no rush
blue, blood-soaked gurneys
Disappearing behind the metal doors
Padlocks slamming shut

Yes, they haunt me
and I see them,
every night, they flood me with their faces
with screams that tear at every organ inside me
screams of grief wrap around my throat
choking me, reminding me
Gunshot to the head, to the chest, to the face
not to the arm, not to the knee, not to the leg
Death faced with such an abandon
Justice, freedom, snipers and an insatiable military
I desperately grasp at these moments
remembering what it meant to cease to be I
The collective abandon
the futility of life constrained

An empty square, overflowing poll booths
blood stained streets,
spilled by those who now
glide through the skies painting hearts
as a nation soaks its feet in the blood
gone cold
of a moment of collective abandon
They visit me again that night,
the screams of grief are louder
louder than your F-16s, Apaches and airbuses
and they grip my heart and pierce it
With the futility of collective abandon.

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