Day 8: Poem-a-Day

Prompt: Write a violence/peace poem

My double bed–floral and frilly–is outfitted
to persuade me that I lie down in green pastures
But in this box set, “x” marks the spot
where I crouched down
the day I heard them fight for real.
The day I learned my mother’s tongue was a Swiss army knife–
a whole repertoire of sharp weapons switched in the blink of an eye
The day I learned my father’s patience had been dangling from a cliff my whole life
and would yell if pushed over the edge

I could not unhear the verbal grenades
and I desperately wanted to stay backstage
I did not know who I’d have to be
to pretend we lived in peace 

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