I don’t like these memes. They strike my ears hard and threaten tinnitus. But I can’t run from this one…
I’m sure I read it when I was still ringing and shaking from that violent heartbreak. I’m sure it circled back and, again, it was too loud to ingest. So, I spat it back out into the world and scrolled through my feed faster. To get away from its aftertaste.
Here it is again. It still frosts and burns my ears. But this time? This time I can feel the space left…
And my branches and leaves are reaching out — extending — occupying that space and drinking the sunlight that fills it.
There was no army and only the one bomb. How could I cast blame for using it?
— Quite easily, actually. And sometimes not at all.
I risk it aging me into bitterness and cynicism all the time. But less and less, too. — The chill breaks.
With gifts sent from foreign aides (thank you) I’ve planted myself in the very mess of its aftermath. Digesting the debris and residue by way of new roots and tougher teeth.
— Split atoms are sewn back together, rearranged in formation for battle. Just in case. — But also now prettier and versatile.
This is my land and I love it — even though it’s burnt, frozen, leveled, and little that grew before will sprout again.
— I am enough to give it new purpose and sew new life. And maybe others will want to stay here, too.