We stood under the sun-ripened mango tree
in a drawn-out circle of peace
We played our favorite childhood game
We screamed, my cousin … he screamed
“I declare war on Jamaica!”
I ran out of our peaceful circle
Playing the role of a refugee
As this was the procedure of war
“BOOOMM!!” We heard in the distance
Our feet danced involuntarily to the sudden beat
it was no music
that was the sound of war.
We’d heard of them.
Our parents spoke of them in hushed voices
They whispered them as the “malicious”
Our older siblings called them “my-life-short”
All we knew was that they were bad
And they were near.
the game we played was our only understanding of war
Declaring it on countries we’d only heard about
But it was not in our noses
it reeked of
rotted human flesh,
chaos,
confusion
anger.
we were scared.
our six-year-old bodies became paralyzed
we stood unable to wrap our minds around
the sounds
screams were the singing to beat of guns,
death was the dance
the soundtrack to war was playing in our ears
but we could not dance.
we had tasted the feel of fear.