I am in someone else in their
grandfather's garage, a curl of ancient grease,
fingers my nose, pulling me out to
plowed earth, mosquitoes
fresh grass grown to long, strong
enough for rope, I hang these memories there,
a school of dead fish, swims in the
oily air, and deer from
every season, and off season in lean
years- click hooves on the last
remaining concrete not cracked to dust
this smell is my legacy, the farm sold
to cover medical costs,
keeping an angry life alive
one-more-year (that year) invisible
tears hardened in to gold, and burned a
blessing in to my
skin, or the skin that used to be ME-
it all separated in a panic
every street became a sea, and to cross
them was death defying.
Still there was comfort there,
eventually, a bargain can be made for
peace- hell can be parceled out, slowly
through a life time, Thank God
and so I joined the family in ways I
didn't even recognize, bring my
hand to my face, 100 times daily, a
liquid rosary where my
hand and heart mumbled love and
disappeared in to that word
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