the poem begins not where knife enters but blade twists. Some wounds cannot be hushed no matter way one writes of blood & what reflection arrives in its pooling. The with pain as a mirror inside which I adjust tie my father taught me before first funeral so old grief again at neck. On radio singer born place children watch sky for bombs is trying to sell on love something akin war. have lie offer treacherous this one. was most like bullet when viewed body door. I’m past that now. No will bury their kin desire becomes fugitive between us. There folded flag doorstep. A person only gets called widow once and then they are simply lonely. bluest period. Gratitude itself it can end without house fire. This how plan leave next. Unceremonious birth country overrun by ungrateful living. chain well-meaning liars walking off earth’s edge. That’s who died made king. Who you.