for children everywhere, broken, homeless & disabled
My eyes are brown and green as the mountain's piñon. I wear
thinning, purple long underwear in the morning and warm socks
sometimes late
into the day.You probably don’t know my name,
but it was stitched simply. Perfect quilt of father and mother.
Occasionally I fold up inside myself. Doesn't everyone?
but it was stitched simply. Perfect quilt of father and mother.
Occasionally I fold up inside myself. Doesn't everyone?
What I love best is laughter, cold water running through my hands.
I should have been a whole boy with no mystery inside of me,
but others don’t see me that way, look straight through me,
but others don’t see me that way, look straight through me,
except my mother who will always love me as I am.
Firecracker in the closet hidden behind someone else’s shoes.
Too many times I could have been disowned. But I know
the newborn ghosts that haunt the corner hotel downtown now,
once the hospital of the nuns.
Firecracker in the closet hidden behind someone else’s shoes.
Too many times I could have been disowned. But I know
the newborn ghosts that haunt the corner hotel downtown now,
once the hospital of the nuns.
Many of the piñon are dead on the mountains. Bugs.
Safe quilt slowly shredding at the seams. My father, long gone,
whispers to me, telling me to stand up straight, secretly praying
that his funny son is always fed.
That no one else will ever tear down his leaning house. Someday I will
come in safely from the rain, enter through the garage with the ring of
trusted keys, having carefully parked her car, and give my mother perfect
roses, my laughing smile softening her patient eyes.
That no one else will ever tear down his leaning house. Someday I will
come in safely from the rain, enter through the garage with the ring of
trusted keys, having carefully parked her car, and give my mother perfect
roses, my laughing smile softening her patient eyes.
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