The War

"I'm scared of Jesus," she said.

Sun-shaped face, star-lit eyes.

I want to hold her, tell her it's alright.

"No, you're not!" Her mama insisted.

"You're not afraid of him."

"I'm scared of Jesus," she repeats, little mouse,

with soft tongue.

My gut is like a canon fuse alight.

"You're not scared of him! He loves you!"

My irises lick the ceiling of my skull.

"That's shitty parenting," I grumble.

Nikki pauses the TikTok. Eyes righteous.

"She's doing her best! She means well."

"She is gaslighting her daughter!" My mouth

a rifle, raining bullets as it aims.

"She is allowed

to be afraid of Jesus. Her mom is trying to tell

her child how she feels. That's bullshit."

"I just don't like that you judge her." Nikki

unpauses the video.

The war looks cute on an iPhone.

"People like her create humans that

second guess themselves and their feelings."

They look at me. "She doesn't mean to."

Tanks unload against my lungs as I loosen.

"I...I'm sorry. I guess it's just...

"You know, my dad still hasn't said anything

to me about our relationship. My sister would

think it's a sin."

"I'm sorry."

The eyes looking into me open

and I am back in Morocco, on a Minaret.

Dusty roads of brick and sure skies.

A Catholic priest encircles my hand with his

and a young woman holds my other hand in hers.

Blurry, like I need glasses to see her face. But I

know that I love her.

There are others in our circle, too: mysteries to my mind.

Whatever peace we had committed to

ends and the juxtaposition

of a priest on Muslim architecture

does not escape me,

but I must say to him, and I do:

"I am not Catholic. I do not subscribe

to the bigotry and war your religion has

wrought on the world.

I am gay, and I love this woman. Your

ways would see us in hell together."

I am mighty, a lion aching to roar.

"But, I appreciate your willingness to be

here."

I am sincere, and there is no

battle in my voice. But

there is anger in my heart and it

lifts me into the heavens, among the

clouds. I want to fight everything

with my rage, the animal begging

to be unleashed onto this universe.

I stare down at the priest

but he does not meet my gaze

with a grenade.

I am growing, expanding like a balloon.

My laughter is like missiles, uncontrolled.

I lose sight of the Minaret and

the world is a kaleidoscope of color.

Then, my love is at my feet, a battleground of

blood and destruction.

I am but a seed now, where I was once

a tree.

No, no, why? My words like dainty feet,

swallowed by the voice of God.

YOU.

I am lifted from the prayer tower,

into the clouds once more.

YOU HAVE DONE THIS.

There is no need to see through

my tears. He is everywhere.

THIS IS THE PRICE OF HATRED.

ARE YOU WILLING TO PAY IT FOR

THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?

IS THIS THE WAR YOU WISH TO FIGHT?

WITH IT, YOU WILL BURN EVERYTHING

TO THE GROUND.

YOU WILL NOT WIN THE WAR AND YOU

WILL LOSE EVERYONE.

YOU CAN SELECT YOUR AMMUNITION

BUT YOU CANNOT DECIDE WHO

WILL FACE IT.

RESENTMENT IS A VIRUS.

IT WILL KILL YOU AND THOSE YOU TOUCH

IF YOU DO NOT HEAL FROM IT.

CHOOSE WISELY.