It has been 5 years-
I have failed to share
the stories you entrusted.
Not fully, there are glimmers-
some snippets, anecdotes
from days long past.
Some people have left us,
some have returned,
many have changed.
I have since heard tales
from other perspectives-
they did give me pause;
I try to protect family peace.
I can no longer ask questions,
ask for clarity or intention,
we all have our own truth.
I will hold and honor yours
a little longer.
we’re not terrorists
for being anti-fascist
we’re not terrorists
for wanting healthcare
for all
we’re not terrorists
for knowing that
you’re a pedophile
and saying it out loud
we’re not terrorists
for wanting clean air
and water
we’re not terrorists
for loving
who we love
we’re not terrorists
for wanting better
for our country
and our world
they’re not terrorists
they’re children
and it’s a genocide
The specter of my own failings haunts me.
I cannot escape. Clinging tightly to my ankles
just like my shadow, dragging me down.
I can’t outgrow it.
I can’t outrun it.
Like the scar on my forearm
or the burn on my calf
it is a part of me
for better or worse
we must share this body
this patchwork, fractured mind.
I can ruminate on what’s transpired
until the last man burns to ash
be it global warming or the collapsing sun
can’t do a god damn thing about the past.
Sundays are filled with church services,
rest, and spending time with loved ones,
so hope and beauty show through a
little brighter on Sundays
They say humans are creatures of habit
but I think our regular reinvention is pretty spectacular
mundane trials of life undo our comfortable routines
death steals our loved ones
age alters our bodily abilities
and we rewrite the script:
change out what was familiar
for what is now necessary.
I walk past the house where my former family still lives
I go days at a time without seeing my own children
I sleep in the arms of someone who, like me, was sworn for life to another person
What does it mean
for something to feel normal?
Living is a story of same and different, all at once
the only habit waking each day
and recognizing the sun on our face.
6/28/26
Someone is hanging out at my house.
Someone is almost 15 years old.
Someone is the baby of the family.
Someone is watching cartoons.
Someone is also coloring.
Someone is a softball phenom.
Someone is epileptic.
Someone doesn’t want to be
Where her great grandma is dying.
Someone is so childlike.
I’m so glad someone is at my house.
I break from the branch.
Whose? Aimless paces
I hear making way
to the city, trip
over Cyprus knees,
drop, retrieve keys, map;
mice and vole scurry
away from her so
she should go, safe now
embraced in silk net
gained climbing over
walls, gates, human things.
Leather-bound hair lock,
I make it mine so
she stays with me now
canopy by day
then, gliding streetlight
high, give me a chance
to gain your trust like
I have the outcasts,
consume all of you
so like me you know
how to hear the grass
sing when you fly low
over it, hunting
for future offerings
of fur and mixed bones.
