Bearing the Desired Fruit & Flesh

Animosity- the word taints my palate already, nesting this once again rage. I wake to tales of animosity, breaking my fast of evening, my insides churn into a blood batter of the cortisol passed down to my young body, intergenerational. It's an over a century-old fight, yet ripening. The enemy is kilometers away, the headlines warn, Whoever has Shushi, has Artsakh. Long and heavy