Ma is sitting on the porch
just before the laid out crumble
of stone outlined by brick and mortar
iron bands, gold shell casings
and silence
except for the sky
did you know colors can speak
burnt orange clouds
like fluffed up dried blood
its been raining for years
on shirts, on limbs
on the inside of women’s thighs
bitten by the cold
unforgiving—
that’s how we got here
the place where we are shown
what we have shown
what does Pa think of all this?
he’s looking right up at that sky
scarred and singed
defiant in his brokenness
feelings awash amid the rubble
now comes the season of atonement.