Battle Lines Poem by Shannon Thompson

Every word you shoot leaves a bullet hole,
Pokes through skin like a bayonet tip.
Silence on the ride home—our no man’s land.
I want to throw a word like a grenade,
Pull the pin with my teeth,
Let the smoke fill your eyes and then explode.
Anger leaves a lot of shrapnel;
Pieces lodged in my throat prevent a counter-attack.

We’ve worn different colored uniforms since that day.
Crossing enemy lines—you never looked back.
Threats were made and armies assembled…but
All I wanted was to reach across the trenches we dug,
Deeper and deeper into the muddy argument:
Prove my purple heart was not in vain.

Stumbling over the still bodies of harsh words,
Freshly slain and still bleeding,
Realizing the futility of the fight,
I cross the battle line you have drawn.
Weary sighs become my flagged surrenders.
Turning, you catch the whites of my eyes—

Cease fire.