I feel so morbid
I kept expecting death at any moment.
Remember, the way the scene slowed?
Iranian orphans struggled
Against a backdrop of flames;
Every motion of muscle, every
Drop of sweat was magnified.
I braced myself for the inevitable:
Back tensed, hands clenched,
Jaw taut. I didnt want to cry
(My emotions arent like yours;
They stretch like taffy, and I
Fold them back inside, without
Ever swallowing, or setting free)
But no one died
And I was confronted with disappointment
Where I should have felt only joy.
An empty drum and a layer
Of melted ice were enough for a boy
To express euphoria: splashing
Was enough to kindle a smile.
I scolded myself for my narrow-
Mindedness: not all movies need a death
To advance the plot.
(Maybe one day I too will sit
On a train, exulting, because the beat
Of hands on knees matches
The rhythm of wheels on tracks).
And not all heroes
Need to be stoic to be strong.
