Anna Gibbs ‘19

I have had enough of the things that lack

resolution, solution,

reparability. My parents

used to clean the bloody piece 

of my knee and jigsaw it back

together after nasty bike falls.

When I tripped over roots or feet.

In their hands, life was Velcro.

It could be fixed. I have had

enough of vans off cliffs, bullets 

out of a gun that can’t be inhaled

back in, regardless of intention.

The boy’s knife slips and sidles into his brother, 

and I have had enough of that. Too

much broken. I have not had enough 

of the rain. Give me precipitation. 

My feet are dirty, and my hair.

My hands are not clean, no

rain these days, nothing to touch my hands but my hands. 

I have had enough of watching people break. 

My shoulders hurt. I have had enough

of their Picasso faces and melting

eyes and origami stomachs. 

Give me back my fear 

of bloody knees and the slow

sirens for a tragedy that you’d never see.

We didn’t always know:

The boy on the bike passes by my spot

on the grass four times. Somewhere close,

a girl younger than this holds her bloody knees

alone. Where are her people? Have we had

enough? Her parents shackled for no crime, good,

right. And we all 

have had enough. And we all nod