Fleeing in the middle of the night,
who are we trying to be,
a band of coyotes?
but fearfully running to
the nearest place that would
take us, accept us.
It’s not that they wouldn’t accept us.
If we suggested to stay,
it only determined how much
she was willing to sacrifice . . .
All in the name of me. all. for. me.
(question myself; me?)
Did you make us leave because his truth
was so erratic, striping— it tore off
this fake enamel you plastered
over your exposed steel bars— those bars,
a cage.
But a cage not occupied by greeting
mourning doves,
the confinds of the cage hold gentle, messily
dismembered bodies holding feathers; left with one
life in an eye.
Scab and scab again. Trying to
heal but struck again before
your cells, your soldiers could gain their strength,
build themselves back up
again.
To knowingly be prepared
for the next hardship,
likely the same hand
again.
Yet that hand
hasn’t been a hand in
vastly 25 years,He’s dead.
you’re safe,
go home.
where is
your home.
Where is MY home?
Did you take mine,
because they took yours ?
well, I’ve changed the key.
You can walk yourself home,
maybe to another’s (to borrow)
Because you will not
assume control over
my body my home.
You can live through and fight
your own problems.
I was born from an opening
where a river spilled from, a person.
You’ve taken me far beyond the river,
I’ve built a boat with what I have left,
and I’ll paddle until I see where the
sky and the sea kiss and bear the teeth of land and trees.
Smiling back at me.
to give me the gift of a welcome to home.
