Graphic by Brenda Delgado
down
down
down,
away
from the eccentric lights
from the crowds of color
from the water of the Great
towards a seat
at the mom & pop diner
at the local high school’s football game
at the Cathedral, built by God’s People
where i could sense everything :
fields of mustard,
smoke from the oil rigs,
town’s latest gossip
the bar, filled with worked hands
and a sense of camaraderie–
always a rite of passage with gloves in its left hand,
& expectations passed down from generations on the Right
i am represented
by the harvest of hard work
Freedom (hiddenintheformofabullet,)
i am swinging
on Traditions &
running with the deer (imseenasadog)
& dodging
the fireworks
& heading
into the thick of it
because those eyes are stitched to the Right hand
i have forsaken
the ancestors of my being–
shame, those who point
at the blood on my knees
& at the mouth that kissed the apple