My grandmother kissed
a ball of lightning under a Roman bridge ruined
no, that was me 

and it went into her bones
broke each of them
a little
no, that was me

And she would sleep with all kinds of men
for a warm bed, a fully stocked fridge
no, that was still me 

and will always
be me

but time
moved, moves
backwards, forwards
skywards 

past and future marry all the time
our exile is happening today
I met my other
Grandmother 

at Damascus Gate
in grainy news footage
I met her again
at Sabra and Shatila 

I met my son
pressed my mouth on
the ridge of his broken brow
his hair smelled of dust 

I kissed a knife
and it wouldn’t kiss me back
we didn’t give you this life
so that you could waste it
it is not, entirely, your own
your mission
should you choose to accept it

                                                                      is