The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: I could die today and live again by Summer Farah

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A History of Termina

In the mayor’s office, men with money pretend the moon is not falling.
Laborers point to its growing shadow, poets ready their pens—
a violence is not solved without memory.
Lonely children do not cry wolf.

Laborers point to its growing shadow, poets ready their pens.
When the moon chooses its end, who will remember us here?
Lonely children do not cry wolf
while playing in the forest past nightfall, they ask:

when the moon chooses its end, who will remember us here?
They wrote songs to one another, named them for the girls
playing in the forest past nightfall, asking
what happens to lonely children with aching lungs.

They wrote songs to one another, named them for the girls
hidden away in their rooms, lit only by moon.
What happens to lonely children with aching lungs,
who yell at the falling light?

Hidden away in their rooms, lit only by moon,
men with money ignore the children
who yell at the falling light.
If it’s something that can be stopped, then just try to stop it!

Men with money ignore the children
with bones growing over their face; children, shrouded in light;

if it’s something that can be stopped, then just try to stop it

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