how could I end up
with my father’s bones
not in a casket in my legs in my ribcage
the way he tore down our wallpaper he was a
Missouri hick he was a
coward he was a
pretender
he was a
coin toss he was a
missionary he was a
mortar and pestle
he ground up my mother’s womb and made me
out of the dough scraps of Christmas cookies that are
supposed to make up for
the times you screamed
and the times you sought to find
something in yourself that says you are
worth living the way Jesus gave
people hope
you have to
put all your faith in your babies
give them milk and lead so they grow up strong
you need to
know that I have walked at night
since I can remember
trying to see if it was your knees or your feet
that took you away
but I always came back home
I always came back home so
thank you for leaving out of the
goodness of your heart thank you
for relegating me to airport terminals and
bathtubs
I have spent a lifetime in dreams following
footprints in the sand and never
once have I heard the voice of God