“I am here because somebody survived”

Which means, sometimes, you disarm

The goon by acting the fool—what they want

Is your throat cut, or your heart broken

By a dum-dum bullet, or your eyes filling

With the void. So they leave with their cartoon

Of you in their heads. The instant they turn—

the flood waters stopping just before the top step,

The hawk grasping feathers instead of flesh—

All the small stuff—your sweat beading off

Your skin, your breath slowing back from flight

To human, you’ve won it. You can pass it on.