Matt Broomfield

 

 

safe zone

living light in the safe zone on MSG sachets
on beans and the biweekly egg
music of the spheres quick-step with the squeegee
here the havens of peace for the wild
here the pottery shard scrape the fat from the burner
all we wanted was to be left alone

the games of the bad boys rushed into and blundered
nom-de-guerres bleached in the chest
air-strikes the headache, mortadella
the mystery, revolutionaries dizzy
baring bellies in the tightness of their love
waking up wicked, mattresses sniper-nested
all we wanted was to be left alone

til temir the city, night walks without small arms
martyred hoods on a headchopper road
the slight crimes in the safe zone,
the solemn and unnecessary,
the polite request to spit in my mouth before hurting
all we wanted was to be left alone

all we wanted was bursting, to cross over
broke borders, to keep oaths made in sickness
on my head and all two of my eyes
such slight crimes we will die for,
the discotheque against orders,
crossing over the checkpoint
without papers for burgers,
all we did for the sunbreak, blood-red
on the safe-zone, the line-dance without touching
all we wanted was to be left alone

 

 

 

 

Matt Broomfield is a poet, activist and journalist currently living and working in Rojava, in solidarity with the socialist-feminist revolution there. Since travelling to Rojava he has published poetry in Rise Up Review, Argot Magazine, and Poets Read The News.

 

 

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