If the children return
with atom bombs for eyes,
bellies filled to brim with indifference
cursing a womb they fell from
burning the eulogies of their ancestors
it is the soil that will pay the price
when the children return
having learned to swim in an acid ocean
believing the stars are scattered omens
knowing the rattle of mortar fire
better than voices of their cousins
will we curse the religion they adopt?
If the children return
in acquiescence with the sky closing
well-adapted to darkness's calloused palms
and have no measure for when day breaks
clothed in skin stitched from their fathers backs
it is the crops that will mourn their ghosts
when the children return
with appetites for gunpowder and steel
when they no longer fear our voices
because our breath smells of silence
if they conclude the world sat and watched
it is their thunder we will have to endure
