The soldiers are

hard at work,

building a house.

They hammer

bodies into the earth

like nails,

they paint the walls

with blood.

Inside, the doors

are locked, shut

like eyes of stones.

And the stairs

are icy, all flights

go down.

There is no floor,

only a roof,

where ash is falling-

dark snow,

a human snow,

thickly, blackly

falling.

Come, they say.

This house will

last forever.

You shall occupy it.

And you, and you-

Come, they say.

There is room

For everyone.

By Suji Kwock Kim