Splintered

[sun_sparks]

Splintered
 

She grinds pasta for bread.

No flour—

My knife slices fresh sourdough.

The red door stands alone

above splintered

bricks and bodies.

My front door closes.

He breakdances on the corner

hands gripping rubble,

a drone: his beat and his overseer.

He beatboxes onstage,
red lights bathing upstretched arms.

We watch her run

through flames

consuming her family,

screams peak—and die—

 

In cages. Humans.

 

Slaughtered,

not for meat—only bones.

Lambs for after the fast.