A Bird From the Battlefront

This evening,

No one looks like me.

I put my heart into the fridge,

My eyes into the shoe closet.

I left my fingers yonder on the door handle.

This evening

No one looks like me

I set on the edge of my silence

Chew what is left of the news

Ask the lady announcer to become sexier

When numbering today's victims;

Her excitement is a surplus femininity

Messing with the awe of death.

This evening,

No one looks like me.

And the knife slitting my neck from behind

Feels as soft as the collar of my shirt.

One

Single

Unique

Solo

I am this evening

And no one looks like me

Except

The twenty-three million Syrians

Who write this same poem

Even now.