Monday, June 22, 2020

Shahé Mankerian: Blindfold

Mother, cover your eyes. No need to see
the man pressed against the bleeding tar

of the asphalt. Ignore the satin moth
trapped inside the empty jar of tarragon.

The helicopter with the quivering nostrils
will hover over the burning cemetery.

The man with the wheezing esophagus
is not a dragon. Don’t look. I’ll force

open the lid of the empty jar. The rotor
blades of the helicopter will drown

his unnecessary plea: “I can’t breathe.
I can’t—” Mother, cover your eyes.

I will smother the embers with my boots
and gift the unmarked grave to the man.

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