for Margaret Hassan
Here is the split, dark crop
in the stone’s heart. I say,
as I hold in my hand, stone,
as in skipping, as in refuse
to answer. Today on the news,
another beheading, a woman
this time. As in leave no
unturned, black hole of a mouth,
of a plum, of an eye. I know you
have stones there, hail, paving,
ware. Find one. Hold it. As in
cast the first. As in to death.
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