SURGE

Shareen K. Murayama

A PILL, like a needle, morphs pained to peaceful.
If it gets too bad, sometime in the night,
he might—

INJECT a fallen country four or five times
it grows colder than most;
other animals bear arms
too far from

CIVILIZATION where most people of color & women
do not negotiate, taking what’s already plated

GREAT-FULL—how I start to spell my country’s name
but I’m a paradox loyal to the backspace key
so my words uncoil in parks like a lover’s

BODY with fists & milk to wash the

EYES of children stewing patiently for

JUSTICE, meaning feedback, to nourish

ANOTHER returning from a

CROSSING to learn if you’re like me

or NOT because that’s all

the POWER I have right now.