Variations on a Last Chance
The fence does not hold.
The wire sheds its barbs, softens to silk thread.
The snipers run out of bullets.
The desert, as it always has, of its volition, blooms.
The snipers are distracted, sexting their girlfriends.
The snipers' eyes are blinded by smoke from our burning tires.
The snipers wonder if they will ever see the end of us.
The fence does not hold.
The snipers take a lunch break.
The bullets melt in their chambers.
The bullets disintegrate when they reach the word PRESS on Yasser's vest.
The news finally breaks the stillness around us.
The bullets will themselves away from the boy's skull.
The boy's sandals sprout wings and he hovers above the bullets' path.
The snipers lose interest in shooting at medics evacuating the wounded.
The snipers make eye contact with one of us and see.
There are enough saline bags at the hospital.
The snipers shoot and miss and miss and miss.
We outrun the snipers.
We bury the dead at the fence, let their roses reach the other side of home.
_________________________
LENA KHALAF TUFFAHA
Something About Living
University of Akron Press, 2024
