Suppose you find yourself
to be a battlefront
in an unconventional war.
At night you’ll ring your bed
with sensors to prevent
incursions.
You’ll wake up each morning
rubbing bullets
out of your crusty eyes.
Walking in daylight:
dangerous. Walking
at night: dangerous.
Somewhere else, politicians
shall argue about how best
to resolve you
without ever lifting a foot
to come down off their hill
and really see you.
Pieces of your soul
will become refugees from you
and you’ll wonder if they’ll ever
return, even in the peace
you would hope will come
once hostilities have ended.
If that day comes soon enough,
you might become whole
more swiftly. None of this means
you’ll never smile or feel love
or joy or even a dash of silliness
now and again, more or less often,
but you will always know
the cost of being the site
of a war you did not choose to fight.
