(a Golden Shovel after Kaveh Akbar)

​

​

Cowered in the corner, a fire is smothered. Only darkness stays and everyone

​

turns away from the monster now lurking with its eyes that could devour. I

​

do not know how to capture something without imprisoning it. Love

​

will be no different when it arrives. I once trapped fireflies in jars and is

​

that not the same kind of evil disguised as innocence? We are all too

​

accustomed to this wonderment overtaking us. Each of us dons our modern

​

costumes and makes believe we are different people now. What can I do to

​

show you this is more than just a facade? Be it monster, be it ignorance, be

​

it anything more than who I was yesterday. In the end, everyone is caught

​

with blood dripping from their hands. It is too much—all of this grieving.

​