تحلیل شعر

``` Deto(nation)

There’s a joke that ends with — huh? It’s the bomb saying here is your father.

Now here is your father inside your lungs. Look how lighter

the earth is — afterward. To even write father

is to carve a portion of the day out of a bomb-bright page.

There’s enough light to drown in but never enough to enter the bones

& stay. Don’t stay here, he said, my boy broken by the names of flowers. Don’t cry

anymore. So I ran. I ran into the night. The night: my shadow growing

toward my father ```