i.
Without warning
the sky can fall
in neat
needle-stitched rows,
precisely spaced
and GPS guided
to knife across terrain
older than memory.
Blood feuds are nothing
new, having scarred
shifting dunes
reshaped by time
and erasing all evidence
of crimes committed
centuries
before the digital age.
But hate remains hate
regardless of party
lines, ideologies,
genealogies,
or a tear-stained
history reduced
to scrolls held aloft
on holy days.
ii.
Lot learned the hard
way that looking
back on an unforgiving
past
in search of justification
freezes the blood
in your veins
into salt. Or stone.
Yet even now
the sky still falls
without warning
on the heads of those
crushed beneath
the relentless weight
of being birthed
on the wrong side
of a line or wall —
while we
as idle watchers
exchange tired quotes
with hashtag significance
from the relative
safety
of our smartphones.
