I’ve learned how to dismember my ligaments
For those who need body parts, how to
Digest ***** burning the stomach lining.
I’ve learned how to read the bible
As a poem and not a story, as
A way of life; not an outline of life.

I’ve learned how to open my arms
To those claiming refugee on cement sidewalks.
I’ve learned how to sing; not choir songs,
No symphonies nor harmonies, but sing
With a shaking voice from the pits
Of carcass burnt within fiery honesty.

I'm still learning how to scratch the surface
To let scabs turn to skin, because I have always
Been fascinated with the process of healing,
But I become nostalgic when I outline stains
On my skin from previous memories.

I’ve learned how to paint the silhouette
Of a smiling man saying goodbye to his wife
While holding rifles pointed at the cross
By the church where they used to meet.

Knowledge comes in two forms;
The first resides within yearning, the second within coping.
I do not know how to tame forest fires
From flocking flames feathering forgiveness:

I guess I haven’t learned anything after all.