ManicDDaily

“Short Sleeves” (Thinking of Sierra Leone)

I cannot come close to really imagining
the bite of knife, the cold metal
below the shoulder blades.

My image of the invading soldiers as they unsheathe
their intent
is stock, stereotyped–when I try to place myself as captive,
the man now without arms, I feel
like the lowest thief of despair, a vampire
sucking at the heart of darkness, truth, suffering,
to fill my own precious
vacuity.

The metal hooks that serve
as his hands
bring wounds to my head, soundbites like
“the congealment of survival.”

My safe/sound cerebellum sees him dreaming
of lost arms, fingers, that clutch at the throats
of metal grins, until, as a dark flock flutters overhead,
all taking wing at once, they stretch
down to his loins, caressing,
tender.  I imagine him waking to nub sides, weeping
at the loss of touch, the touch of him, and
I want to weep–that
part is genuine enough–I want
to weep without, I imagine,
ceasing, touched
in every part of soul I can muster,
hurting
as best I can.

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I wrote the above post for dVerse Poets Pub Poetics Challenge on vampires, hosted by a blogger named Blue Flute.  I have read my share of straight and fun vampire books–in fact if you search vampire on this blog–you will find vampire elephants, vampire camels, and many posts on Robert Pattinson–but today  the theme brought to mind the current war crimes trial at the Hague against Charles Taylor, Liberian dictator–the blood lust of the soldiers and the sorrow I feel over these things without, I know, a true understanding of them.   When Taylor’s  troops invaded Sierra Leone, they sometimes taunted victims with the “choice” of “long sleeves,” the cutting off of their hands, or “short sleeves,” the cutting off of arms above the elbows.  People were given “smiles” by the cutting off of their lips.  Taylor has been found guilty.