How I Finally Learned to Make Fruit Salad
children of the victors have heroes and flags but no tales
children of the victims hold the memories in hearts and stories
in the christian genocide which was not so named a man could watch
his children tied limb by limb to four horses while dismembered or
tossed in the air and shot the women used in all ways not be returned
men did and were done to with what they did in war
my grandfather told me these stories even as I covered my ears
houses burned while owners escaped then disappeared anyway
all they retained was misery suspicion grief and story no one wanted to hear
all the shiny things were kept by the victors to be digested by sunny children
who heard only fairy tales of things past victors who seemed
when I first met one to be of oddly good cheer a friendly generous soul
who had never heard of genocide in school had lots of
friends at his table spread thick with foods I had never tasted
and could not help myself we all stuffed ourselves with
the forbidden talk and food and music of childhood tales
all night I could not sleep wondering how I had eaten
the food of others memories without poisoning
from such indulgence so I called the next day begging for recipes
to be prepared with a big dash of story and small sprinkle of guilt
Copyright © 2015 by Joanna Conom
Cover Photo by Staci Leigh