• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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Do you remember the windows?

Ten years later, you will think it
a sheet of paper, some history lesson
written -composed in curious names of
those who won- no children considered

these are the things you will remember
flashes of light: not the direct impact of the curtains shaking
but the sofa yellow and puckered
a little hand stuck in its folds, hiding a phone

keeping your head attached to your body
is a must, you stuff the phone inside the sofa
ask your little sister to sit still on top of the cushions
when she trembles at the sound of his footsteps, you whisper: it’s going to be ok

you hear them, the muddy feet mingle with the white marble floors
trudging, dragging. Soldiers do not walk in pride
until the battle is over- before that they must
keep their color and march where commanded: into your house,

walk over your dreams. There will be light,
coming out from the windows, bright-
there will be loud sounds but no music
nightmares do not need extra dramatization

you were twelve and smart then,
today your nightmares are different-
men, yours bare-chested and bleeding in your arms
you, teary holding on to the saying: the sky doesn't mull over
what earth has to receive, so you rock in your chair


Do you remember the windows?

it is far, you say to yourself- these thoughts
close your eyes, relax. Eradicate the blood,
forthcoming and forecasted from memory
you were only twelve
the windows were always extra bright

hold the bricks in your hand,
feel them set aside in the attic
to close the gaps and seal you
fix the new holes in the ceiling-

when it rains, ten years later
the buckets will no longer collect a song
because the sky doesn’t rain indoors anymore
only streams you sunlight

You are now an adult,
You have seen this once- you know you will see it again
there are war planes over the city, let’s not be bleak about it
you will close your eyes on this attic that opens you up
like a treasure box, when and if you open your eyes again
there will only be debris and a city-