To our soldiers.

for Aiyana Jones, for Abeer Qassim
for little girls everywhere who don’t know

the house is surrounded
by air and by sea on land and on siege
there is someone dangerous inside
no two no three no ten
twenty dark specters with hate for bodies
but very real guns inside

they storm the house they throw lightning inside
the door is gone the people screaming
the girl is dead but they got the one
he killed one of his own her body is burned

the girl is dead this is the part
where borders count become real over graves
thick dark lines over little girl bodies

the girl is dead we want her back
the girl is dead her body is burned
the girl is dead but she is in Iraq
the girl is dead but she is in Afghanistan
the girl is dead but she is in Detroit
but we got him and the others were there
they knew what he was

does it matter much her ashes are scattered
if the girl is dead and she is everywhere
if we did everything right we can’t let terror win

not in the streets in Fallujah
not in Kabul not in Detroit
not in Chicago

night raids when their searchlights
cross my window past midnight
will they drop something on my building
in Baltimore what did we do when

we don’t know what room downstairs
has the rock in Iraq they come for us
don’t let your light cross my window or
this little girl will die she lives inside me
she will burn fast

we don’t know what room downstairs
has the bomb but we know where
our little girls are we bury them in
basements and stroke their charred hair

we wail loudly in the streets
light candles bind teddy bears to lamp posts
we shake the walls of white houses
we yell outside of embassies police departments
barracks city halls departments of justice and state

we cry for her blood in new tongues
we cry for her blood and hate uniforms
we hate black boots we hate campaigns
we hate all who won’t bring her back

we hate everyone until we need them
and then we hate our needs
we need her back and she’s not coming
they have forced us to ask their help

as they burn our girls away
they deliver death without warning
and kill little dark girls what if she
birthed che or harriet what if
sie was che and harriet

it’s as unknown
as what day you will bleach our doorways
burning our noses burning our girls
bleaching away dark blood on our stairs
so we can’t warn the angels of where
we are

we can’t tell them what we’ve seen
enough death just pass through
our doors are marked protect us
our sons will leave us they will join you
take a sword fan the flames