Superheroes Kiss the Bomb Before They say Goodnight

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

She leaned over and whispered to me,

this is what a breakdown looks like,

remember sometimes its comes in mumbles that you kick around with half tied shoes

before you learn to run away.

Fighting for what’s right is not always easy, just look at the comic books.

The orphaned super heroes who had to sew their own capes

before they could climb out of the sewer.

Sometimes it takes centuries of fighting the villains

before the nightmares can banner their purpose.

But you must remember, she said, what the breaking means.

The dirt under your shoes that collects like dust not even tornados can shake

The moments you didn’t bite your time when the screaming clocks demanded sunset. 

Because brave men have spoke on the cancer of silence

that following the rules can cousin apathy

and it takes a leader to ask why before they follow the verb of direction.

Do not search for superglue instead of reason.

No one said the parts of you would remain whole.

No one said superheroes always get a sidekick.

Sometimes the team assembles after risk has been put to bed.

There are far too many soliloquies professed to dark alleys

with no audience to sympathize

But it’s worth taking your hands out of pocket to show your fists,

Because monsters always confuse claws for power.

Yes, you will break, and no one will hear the cracks.

No one will see how that broken and beautiful mean the same thing

when compassion is your dictionary.

There will be no picket lines to follow to safety

Only you with your cape, and just enough fabric to sew your morals together.

You will wonder why the skyscrapers can’t talk back.

You will wonder how the bully of dark has been written on the ballot so many times.

So, she said, when the bomb comes, kiss it with those cherry war-painted lips

And tell them to keep on dropping,

that you are ready for another.

You will place yourself back together with tongues of prayer

in a language only native to your heart.

Every syllable will throb in this portrait of solitude

But in the end, you wrote you own story,

And that, she said, is what saved the day.