My childhood friends still wear their veils to cover their lies,
no one is speaking the same language.
I wonder if my father is still alive.
I walk down the street,
I see women clutching their bibles like newborn babies,
although no one is going to church -
not one ever goes to church.
The air is stale, the seasonless breeze blows away the never changing leaves.
It starts to rain, and my clothes are covered in ash.
I remember as a child I would wear all grey so the ash would melt into my clothes, making me feel like a raindrop.
I walk up to the home I used to live in,
I knock but I dont expect a reply.
The plants are hanging upside down, the the floors are thawed through, there is no roof.
I step in the beaten shack looking at the cracked pictures on the walls,
looking at the sky through my bedroom ceiling.
I turn on the faucet and only cold water splashes my hands.
I forgot there is no hot water here.
I shiver and walk outside,
I see limbs scattered in the streets,
all lost pieces of people who gave up themselves up for a moment of pleasure.
Lost pieces of who they were for another.
I see a hand and a thigh and I smile at them, they smile back.
I see an ear and it looks familiar, she is covered in a vail, speaking a foreign tongue.
I smile at the ear, but it replies in a blank stare,
I walk closer and see that is is my mother.
I look for more pieces of her but I can’t find anything.
She is just an ear.
The ash starts to fall again.