sometimes it helps me to remember that my father is just a boy
who got stuck behind a shield of silver cans
afraid to to push past the smoke
in case someone mistook his desire
for comfort
with his absolute terror
of the fickleness of joy
sometimes it helps me to remember that my mother is just a girl
crinkled eyes and dimples,
haloed with golden curls
embodied desire born wedged between generations
unable to give her the foundation of delight
that would set her free from depravity
sometimes it helps me to remember that my grandaddy was just a boy
barefoot and wild in the frozen camp of his forefathers
his mother knit him a coat of pride and championship
because she had no other resources
to keep him warm and fed
assuming his tender-hearted generosity
would survive the wrapping
sometimes it helps me to remember my great-aunt was a mother
her grief at her own mother's passing
inseminating her with motherless children
washed ashore at the foot
of her enchanted hill
until adolescence
ransomed their innocence
to the tide of maturity
sometimes it helps me to remember my brother was alive
slipping fearlessly through the rails
to stand on the edge
laughing in the faces of our old people
marching barefoot through the yellow jackets
to savor the grounded fruit
before educating all of us
on the consequences of shame
with his long goodbye
sometimes it helps me to remember that I am unbound
a gentle aggregation of cells and magic
currently enjoying a sabbatical
from the vastness of the Universe
until I'm called back to dissolution
by the urgency of the stars
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| Art by my talented daughter @lilbean_lad on instagram |
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