Terrorist.

Terrorist

   Your philosophy was always inside
   Of me.
   Begging prisoner. Smooth talk friend. Little ember in a quiet,
      harmful night.
   I have wondered for so long
   What I would do. If I met you,
      Dancing the rhythm of anger slowly forward
      Folding over the dough of pain, the cookies of comfort
   Never tasted so soft.
   I never tasted so soft ... that night we wept in bodies
   And denied ourselves the pleasure of counting
   The maimed and dying on our hands
   Would you like to ... you said
   as though I had a choice
   As though the roar of expediency could be drowned
   In a heartbeat.
   I never think much now.
   Who could pause in this thick white and breathe the ash
   Of dreamers gone
   And understand where we have gone
   What you've become.
   I heard you loud and clear, but still I left myself
   And my stunted little tree
   Faith gone the way of priests
   And animals.
   You thought that good could come from redemption
      That chocolate comes from god
   And ice cream is a sinner's last wish before their limbs trace arcs
      in air
   to street corners
   and freelance coroners.
   But I never believed.

Rachael Dempsey grew up in Kapuskasing Ontario. She studied English at McGill University and international relations at the University of Toronto. She has worked and studied In Colombia, Japan, Egypt, Israel and Spain. Her work has been published in Montage: A Literary Journal. She is currently reading The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje, An Imperfect Offering: Humanitarian Action in the Twenty-First Century by James Orbinski and Canadian Foreign Policy in Critical Perspective edited by J. Marshall Beier and Lana Wylie.