The following is a response, or perhaps companion, piece to Olia Lialina’s My Boyfriend Came Back from the War.
I didn’t go- none of us did.
They thought we went, but we didn’t.
We were here.
They didn’t think so, so they screamed at us
and shot at us
and wanted us to die.
“Maluus zebr” they said about
each of us in turn.
But here it is, I still have it.
And this- see the dust
still caked into the fibers?
I shouldn’t have it, they have rules about trophies,
but this is from when we were bombed
out of bed-
well, I wasn’t in bed.