goes the clock,
6:07 shows the reaper's clock
The number 6 stands for humanity’s imperfection,
7, for God’s perfection,
6:07 is the time for the gods of Death to punish our transgressions.
That's the way the cookie crumbles.
Cookies go “crack” between my teeth,
crunch under my crooked smile
and crackled lips.
escaped crumbs coat my colored sweater.
like the cookie in my mouth.
like my body on the kitchen floor,
crumbling under the weight
of the crackling of an explosion.
go the footsteps,
on the debris.
go the footsteps
on the evidence of murder,
contaminating the evidence of corruption and cowardliness,
like cookie crumbs contaminate my kitchen floor.
go the bits of cracked glass
under my broom.
Cracked car windows,
and broken mosque chandeliers.
Crack goes the thunder,
not the explosion,
It's just thunder.
Crack goes my heart,
when I remember the numbers.
When the weight of the deaths hits me,
all at once,
the way the sound of thunder jolts me awake,
the way eating cookies in the kitchen reminds me of my crumbled country,
the way the blood-smeared broomstick can sweep more than shards of glass,
the way Beirut went boom.