somewhere is a story,
you are it.
i must write and rewrite;
until i get close enough to you.
“You can tell me a story if you want to, any story would do just fine. Any story from you, of you. Now is good as any other–our truth always arrives on time. I have no where to be, not enough to do, and ears only for listening. Then I’ll tell you my story, if you’re still around: how the papers called me a bad man, not a poor man; went and put in print I was out doing wrong and being no good. Now, go on, before we loose our light and I can’t see the story on your face.”
no house. a new motel:
three generations forced&squished into a single room.
the cats moan and cry here now.
rubbing hair against the wood screen door.
i tell them no one is home.
published in SOU Student Press, Vol. 2: Essential Oil, 2017.
you stripped my tree of its womb.
you stripped my body of its fruit.
you took, to take again.