Ode to a failed woman suicide bomber

Whose kind face
Did you think of in those, your supposed,
Last moments? A son, a brother, surely
A lover? When was your heart broken?
Who was it that ripped your dreams? With promises
Of words? Or was it merely a chance look, a raising
Of eyebrows, a smile, the gentle music of his voice
Like wind in long grass? Did you think he might
Hold your hand on a park bench, undress you,
Stream over your breasts with his hands, his tongue –
Your skin cold, your blood hot, your lips pressed
Against his, lights dancing all around your stomach

Mocked your entire life,
Now even death spurns you. Life and sunlight
Raise up entire armies against you, their shields glistening
They rattle their swords and rile at you, taunt you
With rewards of empty words.
Claw, scrape at your throat. You don't deserve
The air. Your feet should not be allowed to touch
This dusty earth. Your unwholesome body
Should be rent apart.

How could you ever have thought
That he might love you, look at you
Even for a moment?.