HPN

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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 32

How it is

A masked man comes to the door
I see him from the peephole
go out and quickly hand him
a large green bag, tomorrow, I say,
he nods, no other words
I rush back inside

A neighbor opens her door a crack
shaking her head. I motion
what choice do I have,
she shrugs and shuts her door.

The streets are quiet, a few people
walk hurriedly by armed with fear.
Fights break out in people’s eyes
who get too close, back off
in time. Sometimes not.

We don’t see bullets strike us
any blood, so we keep on
until we can’t, become one of
the missing.

have you heard from
someone says, no, you… not on fb
maybe he’s just taking
a break… I heard the same
about… stop, you know better
we all do, and keep going, eyes averted

till we’re safe at home watching
people being massacred in
another country; it was like that
at first. The fourth wall in tact
before our death broke it

  Linda Lerner