i am i am i am

i am i am i am - a poem

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on the midway six-graders came in the bus

i guess it was mostly because they were noisy and funny, — still, they reminded me of my own class

i mostly don’t miss dead people, i only miss their presence 

got to learn it at the start of the war, as my first lessons 

i survived. i stayed alive 

through the bombing that started at 3.45

i stayed alive

      i stayed alive

            i i i i i ——— stayed alive 

to serve up what turned out to be fatal 

the death is the painkillers 

    its the life itself that’s a battle 

  that leaves no winners — 

   because as long as you fight you are a sinner

and only the limbo will clean you, little soldier, imperfect man  

i i i i stayed alive

       and let me never forget about it (amen)

on the midway i realized, no one in the whole bus would understand (amen

     amen 

          amen) 

how i was chained and guilted to complete strangers 

no one 

    not the toddlers, that slept on the mother’s arms,

     not the absent -minded elders, not even teenagers 

they were all fucking their heads

‘what do we do now that we’ve shared a bed?’

‘am i all the things that my mother has said?’

‘maybe that’s how it will be, a girl that’s forever sad’

‘should i tell her i love her or should i play pretend?’

‘i am not i am i am not hitting sent’

‘…that’s where it went’

so busy with sweet little nothingness 

they wouldn’t notice, they wouldn’t sense 

that there was a girl that survived 3.45 

that it was such a big miracle 

  to even simply

       breathe

 to just be

            alive