You have said that this land is your land,
and only yours.
Your comfort is your God
worshipped without doubt
in the temple of your certainty.
You would exile the blasphemous.
You want the sand in your oyster to be disappeared.

You would kill Galileo again and again
for daring to suggest that you are not the center of the world.

You cheer as unwanted babies to go hungry in the arms of unsupported mothers.
You are working to erase all nuance of gender
to prune us harshly into a false binary.
You would return all the brown people
like ill-fitting sweaters to wherever it is you think they came from.
You are trying to spin a story about the morality of chattel slavery.
Somehow it all makes sense to you

I don’t understand.
I want to understand.
And I don’t want to understand.

I am afraid that if I walk my heart up to the edge
of whatever toxic brew of fear and rage is brewing,
I am afraid that if I get too close and peer in

I will either lose my balance and go tumbling down into
the tar pits of vitriol never to be seen again

Or, And maybe worse

I will walk up to the edge
lean all the way over
And see only my reflection blinking back

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