Day 1,058

Your kids can’t fly kites.
You can’t have surgery.
You can’t get antibiotics,
insulin, dialysis, phenobarbital
for seizures. Baby formula.
You can’t find diapers for your baby.
You can’t get a prosthetic leg.
Your children can’t go to school.
You can’t get rid of the smell
of sewage. Rotting flesh.
You can’t eat cinnamon,
cardamom, chocolate
today. Tomorrow it will be
something else. You can’t
let your children play outside,
though children are shot
all the time
in the back or the neck or the head
while sitting quietly
inside their tents. You can’t
sit quietly. You can’t
talk loudly. You can’t
stand alone. You can’t
mingle with a crowd.
You can’t watch the sunset.
You can’t fish in the sea.
You can’t celebrate a birthday,
a birth, a graduation, a wedding
without fearing everyone there
will be slaughtered.
You can’t bury your dead.