Rough Diamonds

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here is how you begin: you call attention to the
iron bullets stuck in your lungs,
and liquid mercury in your bloodstream.
you call attention to pear ice cream
dripping down your fingers and
the orange-blue of suburbia.
you display these things. unapologetic.
you stray away from the normalcy of
t.v shows and puritan rituals.
you leave on horseback,
barefoot and
screaming over the people who
try to say that you're sacred.
you march with your
soldiers, brothers-in-arms, thieves,
carrying pieces of dear metal
and plumes of feathers and smoke.
you bring immovable statues, grown from
the bomb shattered earth,
grown from your own incomprehensible bones.
you knit purple-green socks to
contrast against mahogany tables and the
children hiding underneath,
you cannot deny your own breathless gratitude
and your own terror, shaking and rocking
at night, in bed, conjugating the word 'death'
so you leave in the frost painted morning,
and return with red stamped letters,
'my condolences, ma'am.'
'my apologies, sir.'
'i'm sorry for your- '
'he will be misse-'
'she was a good soldi-'
'i'm sorry-'
'i'm sorr-'
'I'M SO-'