I don’t know what else to say, except I love you, Manchester
I have said nothing to anyone about Brussels. I have been
silent, as I was after Paris. (I should have said something)
What is there to say-how much is enough?
(Mumbai, New York City, Cameroon, Boston, Ouagadougou,
Jakarta, Manchester, Tanta, London, San Bernardino,
Istanbul, Oklahoma City, Chicago-
do you have time for a complete listing)
I know that anything I say will be insufficient and vague
in comparison (to the truth)
[put up next to what they need
more than words]
If it were me, if I was there, I imagine
I would be as silent as now, wanting to
scream but instead- zombielike- tidying up
walking through what is mundane and useful
and cleaning up the atrocity of violation.
[(This is not yours. Why
do you insist on breaking it to pieces)
is as close as I have come to words]
Are you not tired of the raging?
I weary of the anger, the pure hate
that does not end
always simmering, sometimes boiling over
yet constantly being refilled, that tank-
What can I say? Who am I? I am your neighbor, weeping for you.
My words feel small. My anger does not feel