making ruined cities
look like dust.
In that country of light
there is no supper
though the sun’s marketplace
reveals the legs inside young women’s skirts,
burning round oranges,
wheat loaves,
and the men’s uniforms with shining buttons.
We are polite in the sun
and we ask for nothing
because it has hit the walls with such force.
But when the sun falls
and we are all one color
and still in danger
we tell each other
how this child was broken open by a man,
this person left with only fingerprints.
Sometimes one of us
tries to stand up to the light.
Her skin burns red as a liar
in fear’s heat.
So in the light we say only,
Never mind, I was just passing through
the universe. It’s nothing.
But there are times we tell the truth;
Sun, we see through you
the flashing of rifles and scythes.
Let’s stand up. The enemy
is ready for questions.
There is light coming in beneath the door.
Stop it with a rag.
There is light entering a keyhole.
Cover it with your hand
and speak, tell me everything.