Cut-outs

magazines
Rita Morais photo

Flipping pages so fast they’ve become

A mind-numbing blur;

Glossy cardboard cut-outs come alive,

Buoyed up by arrogance –

The self-love, self-trust of centuries,

Bars we set and never quite touch,

We just knock them down an inch or two each year;

But don’t you try to lend a hand,

Humanity is fine,

Just fine, on our own.

The tangled threads grow darker,

Anonymous comments spelling hatred,

And it’s exhausting.

But everything will be okay, right?

If distrust is silent, it’s invisible;

If tears aren’t seen, did they even fall?

The sheer atrocity of these lies

Could make us die inside;

When oh when did everything we stand on

Become the false creed we live by?

And if you shatter that, there may be

No earth left at all,

Just the burning skeletons of cardboard cut-outs.

You tell us that

Our tears fall on an expansive palm,

And our distrust echoes in a universal ear;

For as surely as we were born into this chaos,

We cannot escape it on our own.

So we claw and kick against the trap we built,

Looking for control buttons and shortcuts.

Let’s hope the newsflash doesn’t come too late:

There never were any shortcuts –

That part was fabrication too.

~ Ilana Reimer

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