Together, sing like birds in a cage

Papa,
Will the men come with guns?
Will they run at the door like
Scalded skin on water
Will they shout and scream
And demand our stolen cards?
Will their words alone flay the
Hair from my head,
Will they let your tears mix with mine?

Daughter,
These men have fingers that
Grip like rat-traps, but
Between you and me, is each other; you, my
Pretty flower, arching toward the sun
Reviving in the rain,
Even, through the cracks.
We shall laugh, together, brightest and
Best.

Papa,
When they rebuild the fractured city
After the steel-capped feet have marched
Through the resistance,
Widened the streets, to their distracted
Pomp and style, demolished those places;
The street where a smiling boy
Tightened a purple ribbon in
My hair, or the market

Together, sing like birds in a cage

Where I fetched milk and honey for
Mama because the worst of the sleeping
Sickness encased her, like the
Old blanket she disappeared inside.
Will our souls flee too?

Daughter,
Hush child, do not cry out.
Your tears may fall, they may
Wash your face. But
Our silence is the loudest revolt.