My name is string tying the hawk’s leg red.
My mother’s name is springtime in a land she wasn’t born in red.
My father’s name is pencil markings of the bombs red.
My sister’s name is lovely flower red.
My brother’s name is unstoppable fission red.
My grandmother’s name is sorrow on a soft, red wind.
I come from a people known for broken cathedrals, long voyages across the sea and bootlegged moonshine.