I returned home to add the keening to the playlist,
record the cardiac hum pulsing in foxgloves’ throats,
cut a requiem that would make warmongers desist.

I returned home to add the dead to the playlist,
clean wounds, feed wolves, unclench the fist.
Borders closed in, needles skipped as tanks approached

and I, returned home, added new keening to the playlist,
recorded the cardiac hum pulsing in foxgloves’ throats.

I clean wounds, feed wolves, unclench the fist.
As borders close in, needles skip, tanks approach.
“Submit!” the man holding my daughter at knifepoint persists
while I clean wounds, feed wolves, clench my fist.
His mouth is full of ashes; horsehair bracelets his wrist.
He twists the blade. Around his neck, my daughter’s tooth.
I clean my wound, feed the wolves, unclench his fist
when borders close in, needles skip, tanks approach.