Happy New Year

Busy hands calmly reloading an automatic rifle
Blank stare slowly scanning for breathing bodies
Little feet struggling to stand strong as blood seeps between toes
At an age where he should have been helping his family with the crops
Should have been playing with his friends
Should have been dreaming of love

Instead, as he draws in air that is finally fresh
He sleeps next to my room with clenched fists
I do not dare imagine what nightmares horrifically parade
Single file line like the army he once marched in
His birthday gift was a merry-go-round of gunpowder
His celebratory song was a chorus of screams

When he was drunk
He would tell me about his experiences
Of the violence that tore open his chest
Like it did his community
He warned me about going back
How he was drawn out of desire to help
How he was afraid for his safety if he were to return

What did he see on that final night?
Just another enemy between him and what he needed?
I could not let him do what I feared he would
But it did not much matter
In the end
They stomped him until he felt at home
Beat him into the knowledge that America and Sudan are different
But they do not always have to be

And what do we tell him now?
To hold his head high?
That in this country his dreams will come true?
That’s the problem
They did come true
The ones that have plagued him for the past fifteen years

This is not a new year for him
It is just like all the rest