Q: Do you know how people become dried bodies, stretched and burnt?
We are sitting on the floor, in a sooted kitchen.
Breathing from fragile lungs.
Worn with marathons and our endless sprints.
A: When you steal. When your crime is hunger.
We remember the incident at the market.
The angry fires, heavy tires.
The lone cry mingled with darkly smokes.
He was just a boy.
Q: Do you know how to cry?
We are lying under covers of warmth now.
The raiding bullets outside complete our silence.
A: Sleep on a Map, trace the outlines and spell the name of your country.
Q: Do you know how to lie?
We are desperate for a distant promise.
A beautiful miracle.
Our mouths are sore from hungry days.
A: Say to the beggar on the street, “It is well”
Q: Do you know how to pray?
We love the Bible stories; Solomon and the saintly Joseph.
We giggle under the moon light about Jonah and his fish.
A: Say to fear, not today. Say to the earth, I am King.
Q: Do you know how to die?
We are a little grown now, weathered by disappointments and aches.
A: Never write. Never love.