Privilege john sibley williams 24 A smaller holocaust was happening. In the flooded anthill beside a raked –apart beehive. In the summer sun’s magnification of spiders. Before the house wore down around us, in that misshapen light that broke through unclasped shutters to paint odd bird –flight on the walls. Youth’s brief ruin, before we learn to turn hurt in- ward. Empires of salt & slug, keyed cars, kerosene couches turned forest fire. Before we made religion out of ethereal things, in the body confront –ing itself in the mirror: all acne & sinew & scar. Pornography. Skin as white as rock salt. When the police drove us home again, without arrest.