you have the right to remain silent

as the days turn to fire for retribution

and the nights turn to ice for revenge,

i watch the smoke curl over the mountains

grayish-pink sunsets smelling of apples and your grandfather's attic

where someone died once probably we told ourselves

feeling small as we watched the world unfold

when your grandmother ripped up the newspaper shrieking they're coming for us

and we stood in the doorway 

hearts the broken pieces of jigsaw puzzles made of newspaper made

of the same papier-mache we glued into place on the globe

Florida, New York, Washington, D.C.

whispering the names to each other as your eyes reflected the Sabbath table back at me,

all lacy and cozy like the blankets of brown leaves piling up in the gutters, where sometimes i thought the world might be better,

better than the society we were watching fall apart,

better than possibly the last fall i would spend with my dignity as a dinner guest,

better than paper buildings and paper towns

paper columns holding up our government

taped glued stuck fast but not steadfast not perfect not right paper:

paper hearts

watching it all burn.