but oh how short we have fallen, how in so many wayswe have regressed, we must make america great againi mean, that’s what they say
i mean, sure. like back when i flinched all the time, my mindwandering whenever i began at the flag. i pledge allegiance
to the ceiling. i never sleep at night. no one in the family didor does since crossing oceans to this land where now i am states awaybut still i slip
back into memory of jido waking, unable to breathe. his chairwould creak, i’d smell the crush of orange between his fingersfrom where i laid on the couch.
the light over the oven would throw its vitamin over the kitchenand everything outside was concrete or asleep, exterminatedby the republic, or the neighborhood watch.
all of this so unlike homeland where the bud i fell from bloomedyet another place i have tried and failed to sleep but still found rest
homeland where i have heard the comma of bullfrogs, the rivergargling its own teeth, coyotes becoming o’s under moonfire.wild boars. trampled nightshade. i have heard the dead, my dead
hiding in hawa in wind in love in lungs propped up by oxygentanks and crucibles, chests rising, falling, swallowed by the outlineof mountains. now dead, but jido once said america is responsible
for every child in the world who falls asleep crying he fell asleep, cryingclaimed by the earth this side of the sea before i could ask who claims the oneswho don’t sleep?
their thick hair and dark eyes, protection spell pinned to their sleevesamerica’s nazar always waiting for the flinch
but i’ve unlearned the flinching, let me show you the trick:to be arms wide open enough for you and you and you and myself too
is to leave the chest exposed, no hand over the heart, its chambersexpanding, revolving, under the gaze of their barrel.
o captain, my captain, this arm beneath your headit is some dream, you fallen. cold and dead.