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Dedicated to Alton Sterling and his family, to Baghdad, to Istanbul, to Pulse, and to every place and person in between suffering from hands of hate ​

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Ambulance

I finally understand
why sirens sound the way they do
constant
wailing
shrieking through the streets


what other sound
could there be?
what other sound
is possible
to make--
holding body after body
porous with bullets
gaping, whole faces missing
blown out by bombs
stretchers, hundreds
stained with the rape of
souls


I finally understand
why sirens make box cutter slices
through whatever matter stands between
me
and their flaring, bloodshot lights
message searing:
this will not be ignored


today
when I am without my cry
my voice dried out
from reacting to the world,
I am glad
the sirens are ripping the air around me
mourning, rageful


I eat up
their battle cry.
I stuff my mouth with their howl.
I eat it like it will save me
from this world on fire


and I wait.
I hold my breath
until my noise returns
and I can join each siren
in reverberating alarm,
can sing in their screeching choir:


when will you see that our cries are shared?
that each of us holds the accumulation of every black
brown
pillaged body
upon our hands?


cry, love  cry, love  cry
your tears are proof that you are still alive
we need your sound
we need you to survive
​​

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