by Sophia Tarin

It’s quiet over here,       my back is against the wall        & my gaze is filled with my white                      window, the view is idyllic.        It’s so still over here, the air’s breath        can be heard like the sound              of a sleeping child & bird’s        tweet softly in the background.        It’s symbolic over here,                      nothing               moves outside my window & I               begin to question its authenticity,        a photograph is not reality.                      Two houses fill the scene,        peach & blue separated from               lush        grass by white porches, everything        is made brighter by the sunshine.                      Is it               real? Nothing moves,                    but then the air sighs & the flag,               connected to the peach house,                      moves & dances in the wind.                                           While everything else remains still.

 

It’s quiet over here, I’m looking out for        signs of trouble because Minneapolis        is burning.

But, it’s quiet over here.               I try to listen closer,        try to listen wiser                      for the echo of some faraway screams,               as if the country was a stadium,                             a contained space that bounces

              sound from one side        to the other,        as if the American air blended equally,            &

everyone was given their share of breath           &                sound lingered in the wind.        It’s really pretty over here, everything,                 but the flag is still & I can almost hear               a shiver in the wind, a vibration in the air, a sorrow,                      someone tweets with anger & my phone buzzes loudly in the background,                      the air sighs again & the flag dances,        its strips wiggling like a little girl

playing with three ribbons        the stripes red, white, &               blue.               It’s really pretty over here

              & it bothers me,             this image               has no visible scars,             no signs of evil.

 

It’s quiet over here,        it doesn’t contain any multitudes.            White flight               people are packing up & leaving               the city & moving boxes fill my block,               people running,               running here

for shelter,               it’s really pretty over here, from the view of my white              window & others are 

              running away from here               for sale signs pop up        but it’s all very quiet like nothing

is happening,                    but something is happening,                      it doesn’t make any sound

     it’s in the silence                      & it bothers me,             this silence is more terrifying than violence.