Define war for the weeping fools

Tragedy used to be something that happens

To other people and now it knocks

On our doors, panting on all fours,

One eye in the peephole. 

A wounded animal comes to take a life.

It has a bullet in its side. Maybe that’s why,

Maybe that’s where

It always begins. 

Justice is deaf

And limping. Got hurt somewhere

In the fair give and take of bullets. 

A casualty. Statistically 

Speaking, unavoidable, isn’t it?

I mean, what can we do? 

You do agree that we must win? 

So why waste time counting the numbers?

Only anti-nationals speak

Of collateral damage. 

So you must thump your chest 

(In time with the bullets you cannot hear)

To change the shape of the grief beneath it. 

Make it small. A number, not a name. 

Makes it easy to calculate. 

Define war for the weeping fools.

Do not use the word innocent. 

Use the words blood, death,

Justice, winning. 

Rile up a nation. Drive the grief out

Like an illegal immigrant, a squatter

Long overdue on rent. 

Place your bets on death. 

Gamble in the blood you spill

(Because it isn’t yours). Talk

About the foolishness of peace

To deflect from

The inevitable futility of it all. 

All this discourse

Is one long digression.

Opinions capturing 

The long-disputed land of truth.

And grief once again

Stuck somewhere in the middle,

Not knowing where it belongs.

Innocent. 

I swivel in my chair

Thinking of the best retort. 

The sky outside bleeds blue

In preparation for a storm.

My voice feels like a bulletless gun,

The words ricocheting 

Long before they reach the border. 

I fight for peace

Then sleep like a baby. 

I do not hear tragedy when it knocks. 

-Pia