The city

The houses in my city
are all colored purple.
Here love
sleeps empty stomach every night.
We don't wake up to the chirps
but to the sound of birds trapped in our women's hearts
grappling, waiting to be freed.

In my city,
the flowers are all blue
from the sorrows
of angels
buried six feet under
and the Sun
is but the flames
burning brides
whose screams
have become our lullaby

Somewhere a woman has been crying for 24 hours now
And the heavens
slowly whispered
"The tables had long decided not to turn."