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My laugh, a mangled war cry
Twisting through a hall of mirrors
Bouncing off the blood-stained glass
Revealing those that came before me
And those who will come after.

My laugh, a scratched up mix-tape
Passed around a fascist's birthday party
Hitler and Mussolini chat by the punch bowl
Putin and Trump are in the closet doing God knows what
My great grandma, naked, freezing, stared in through the window.

I laugh today because of her survival
In a world that didn't want her
Her bloodline, a liability
Her beliefs, a bargaining chip
In my laugh's whimper, I hear her whisper.

But now they want us at their parties.
Sharing anecdotes about trips to Israel
Our whiteness a measuring cup
For how much amicability goes into the cake.

Grabbing my second piece,
Something outside catches my eye
Tapping lightly on the window.
It's a little boy, no more than 6
His brown skin against the white snow