There is a quiet place inside me and it says
(a word tapped through cell-walls, misspelled,
in a manuscript that waited, war-flotsam,
My family of blood and ink
(pamphlets and ephemera, carefully archived
spores beneath permafrost, thawing not death
All I ask of you
(what is a country? what if it’s wrong?
what if you love it anyway? what if this
(not was or will be. do not lose yourself
in litanies of martyrs or dreams of future
All you have
(it was never yours. i have hoarded myself
long enough. why hesitate unfurling
the banner of my soul?)
Which alone is mine.