Close to the space heater…closer to ten below and you slowly going away. Last I heard
from you, your voice banging a muffled cut…to the head. You were already gone by then.
Breathe, when you nap when you faint and can’t see. You man up, I know. And more
of a man than the one you married…throwing you across the room. Out of my bed
to perforate his skull with your heels…I tried at twelve. But this is about you on a bus
from Miami to Idaho to the green hill without a city to growing Peruvian potatoes
in Idaho…purples and yellows in the back. Three mobile homes, a rental and a home.
Homemade meals worthy of a prayer and a dance with the cat…the granddaughter
you had to have. Your boys take time to grow.
Vitamins and trips to the hospital…on time. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
- mikefromperu posted this