I walked a mile for a red cent and some hope.
Amid the conflicting images-
snatches of boyhood
and finding your letters at the bottom of garbage heaps
– i tried to gather some love for you.
You, who I don’t know.
Who I mirror
Who’s violence I remind them of.
I think wellness is in your shed.
Part of it, at least, can be found
in that coming together
and finding of tools- pink and blue.
And I remember being happy
on a couch, you and I
my head on your chest.
Looking through older work isn’t bad. Its actually a dope excercise in writing because you see where you have been- what you have evolved from, left behind, or transformed through. Here are two of my older poems that I found in a book this afternoon.
For My Mother
One day I wish to take you home
with arms spread like love unfolding,
with wind at our backs,
with the trembling love of my youth,
with the valley of lessons learned,
and you will forget that no ring was ever exchanged
nor rice thrown.
For My Grandfather
And so you linger
Like dust shifting on country roads
Guiding me home to a place where the southern sky may receive me.
Where the endless green and gold may take me and hold me.
I often travel those roads now
searching for a glimpse of you.
Your laughter in the evening wind.
And when I am still all goes quiet
And in this place I know you have arrived.
If only for a fleeting moment, I am calm.
Like autumn warmth setting down on skin.