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"And You?"

Updated: Feb 19

“They hate us,” my father says.

“Is that so?” I reply.

He grows quiet,

confusion threading his aging face.

“They’re scared of us,”

I say lightly.

It’s not much better,

but “ ‘hate’ ” is a strong word.

“They hate us.”

“They’re scared of us.,

and t They don't want to admit that it’s their fault

that people are still dying, suffering.”

I explain, my voice steady,


“They hate us

for something we didn’t do.”

My father continues

in his weary tone,

“Do you?”

“Do I?”

He flicks his gaze up at me,

crow’s feet caressing his the edges of his droopy eyes,

“Do you hate them?”


I reply, my voice calmer stiller than water.

“And you?”