• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 07

Poem That Ends with a Firing Squad

The fortune cookie read,
‘In new rivers swim many old ghosts.’
We took it as gospel—prophecy foretold.
We brought back the buried like any good god.

They snapped our olive branch
and said shoot all that moves,
but we never knew friends from our foes—
even when battle begun.

Dragon tails flicked around streets.
We heard the crunch of the skulls in their jaws.
Don’t tally the dead—or ask which side won.
In front of our firing squad you said,

“We’re deep in it now with no way to get out.”
That was the truth as we both raised our guns.
Always fighting, you and I—
never behind enemy lines.