Grief #913 by Saeed Jones

Grief #913

I grieve the boy I killed and the country fashioned out

of his blood stains. I grieve that it was so easy. The knife,

lazy and confident, invading him. This is what love feels like.

I grieve that he believed me. Dumb animal, doe-eyed, ready-made

gift, just another border outlined in barbed wire and crime scene chalk.

I grieve that, even then, I already knew I’d do it again, again, again,

again. I grieve a continent, nations united by the way terror turns

me on, the hot instant between thrust and gasp, “I want you”

and “I had you.” Again, again, again, again. I grieve my face

onto the covers of history books. I grieve the descendants,

dumb animals, dead-eyed, ready-made gifts. This is what love

requires. I grieve that they still believe me.