the miracle of existence ishow memory is made half
of things misremembered
my father in his childhood
danced the checkered land-scape of his own intelligence
& anger & to hear him tell it
now you’d think he knew allalong of the country waiting
for him on the other side of
decades & seascapes whatmy father will not tell you
is the first time he left for
america he almost didn’t
bring his passport to the
airport with him he hadnever realised he needed
proof of his homeland to
leave it behind & meanwhilemy father’s father tossed in
empty bedsheets unreliable
& floundering in his ownblackened pride & mean-while my father began to
sculpt the story of the lush
lobed hope he brought to
america & the cloudburst of
love & grief he left behind
& meanwhile my father’s
fury turned common as a
mango or more rare &meanwhile each decadeeach seascape between
my father & his home-
land lapped at his toessanded his story to dust
made static out of phone
lines & as my father handed
his passport to the next
immigration officer & took a
deep breath into the memory
of the future & the sweet dis-
solving tribute of blackness &
warmth he left south of theborder his own father turned
over in the empty sheets &
grinned wide in his sleep,the jackal grin of the living
About the Creator
topaz winters
19, poet. it is a glory & a privilege to love what death cannot touch. homeland, thoughtstream, grid.
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