war impact on the home front
i have been taught to look up to keep from crying, but when i cocked my head,
eyes searching for ceiling tiles, i saw your hands and piano keys,
exalted on a stage.
i have been told that the deeper the scar, the more you have felt.
the more space for someone to weasel into and start to love.
right between my knuckles, i dig, looking for gold.
i have been nullified. my senses dulled.
apparently the more numb, the less pain.
but the music is breaking barricades, letting soldiers storm the port.
it teems with sweaty men and fast heartbeats and the sound of your fingers
playing an original piece meant to seal off the brain.
i can now see that investing yourself in a person
leads to smoke and deforestation.