I remember
a time before.

War was just
an action movie,
blood just
a color

grass was green
sky was blue,
people were
tye dye.

I remember you.

Curly hair
and chrysanthemums,
plucking dreams
off the petals

singing euphoria
through brisk autumn wind,
demanding the world
hear you

pondering
your plights,
when a draft
carried you to battle

and me
peering down the gravel road,
searching for a car
that only cabs bad news.

Remember?
I do.

I claim that I am
Beautiful
Within as well as without
Otherwise tell me-people
That I cannot be beautiful
In any way
But beauty defined
Is sacred
A treasure to
Measure your worth
Until
Along comes miss spider
To sit down beside her
And whisper you’re ugly
Inside and out
Just a worm in the dirt
In the earth
But beautiful may I
Believe to be
Whether it true or not
To be sought after is humbling
But if only for beauty
Would I
Rather not

Their whispers
seep through
the wall vents,
the crackle in the phone,
the inch space underneath their bedroom door.

They fake normalcy.

A pair of
spies
devising plans
to deal with
their children,
their belongings,
their money.

I silently holler
the flaw
in their plan.

Fake.

My siblings remain
oblivious, but
I wonder:

Maybe they were always
faking.