My Cardboard Balcony

Nothing Is by Belinda Roddie Nothing is comparable to the heat of a hand against an exposed belly that rises like the city on a hill, and all the colors drip from window panes to the window sill. The sun bathes in the canal. Our dreams are spun from silk.

Do not set fire to the ballot box. Do not tear down the protesters' signs. Leave your engines running, but your cars idle. Do not mark a martyr's body with tire treads. Be mindful of who interferes with what. A dictator is only friends for a day. Then the champagne you drink from the flute is poisoned, and you sleep while the republic withers away.