the alarm rings in Guernica
All wounds open with this one

The first verse of Dalton’s Como tu
“I love love, life.” witnesses as
All wounds speak with this one

Ingram’s interview with Ms.Goodman
the Jews Hamburg taken to the Mintz Ghetto stripped of clothing  and then shot
All wounds unravel with this one

The way I cannot speak the language of my ancestor and the violence it took to strip our tongue away but not our lives
All wounds open with this one


Refaats join Jara
All wounds open

And as they open still mothers and fathers wipe the clean the face of their dead children and smile

My your god and mine have mercy and smile upon us again as these wounds open I begin to understand a smile is a treasure

Deadly Dior
Grave digging Givenchy
Dead bodies still in cells Celine
Children Crying Chanel
Some are still in the rumble Starbucks
Never Again, Nestle the why you funding genocides
I’m lovin’ it, McDonald’s- actually, no I don’t love you funding war
Where dreams come true Disney+, I beg to differ and offer. Where nightmares are funded for children caught in a conflict.
And so many more who to boycott, I do believe I have stumbled upon a long, long poem that wishes to be longer. Don’t forget you money speaks too like words and songs and paintings hung up.

Words of self awareness are like harpoons

that hit the places that are already wounded

                From those wounds blood still flowed but now as the second sharp point penetrates

It becomes clear that it is there what we must begin to heal

you grab the fruit but you do not

water the tree

                           then you cry in silence at night without asking

the tree why
Why it can no longer bare fruit

your thoughts circle a dead end street
and scream “BARREN”

But why

Why don’t you just water the tree

Nuestros cuerpos parados de lado a lado
nuestros dedos entrelazados mientras el sol convierte el atardecer en mañana

Aquí la boca de la tierra exhala formando gotas de roció sobre el pasto de migraciones passadas

nuestras manos son flores cúspides
que se extiende más allá de las tierras altas occidentales a tocar gramática de las cuencas costeras donde la avenida Central recorre la parte media de la espalda de Los Ángeles.

Desde allí crecemos flores de cosmos para alimentar a los colibríes
con nuestros dulces néctares
y los colibríes viene y nosotras sonreímos

If you look away from the horrors of war, if you ignore reports, personal accounts told, videos of children with amputated limbs, the dead, the dead and many more dead children, and a whole family lifeless on the street next to their car as they tried to flee with now only mosquitos alive circling the camera man who found them–know that what is rotting is not them. It’s our society’s humanity. It’s the lighting of the Christmas tree at square with the reporter standing on a roof instead of on the ground because the area was filled with protesters. That calling for end of  g e n o c i d e when you continue to watch the dying and hear the mourning calls is not anti- anything is simply who continue to watching thousands of children die. Inside the rumble rotting are our values of justice and freedom for all, our great dream of democracy, they push towards the West Bank as they pushed towards the westside of the what became the U.S. manifesting cruelty this story too old and too fraught with river that runs red. Inside the rubble of the past and now the present– along side that dead will lie our humanity and our soul if we look away, silent.

If you walk down the hallway of all your sorrow Watch on each passing door a projector display the whirling colors of the hands bearing gifts and shackles, shaking trees under frightening storms and caskets of people and things seemingly lost. If down this corridor you continue, I promise you will get to the very end where only a final door in front of the corridor remains open where the temperature suits your skin and life still exists lighter and freer than where you were before. This gift I am sure you will receive if you walk through that corridor of your sorrow and you step through that final door