Untitled 1

A Poem by Stephanie W.

the chief of graves has been digging for a decade
they have tried to build houses upon his ground too soon
fathers keep returning sometimes with bullets in their hands
they are still collecting the bones that look like a potential match

sometimes even the mothers have no ears

I superimpose their faces onto mine and onto his and act it out
with two dimensional, bone white marionettes of ourselves
subscribing brittle paper bodies to all i have loved and all i will

the things we have no words for got lost along the way

last week in a country which does not exist,
you showed me mine