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Oct 2016
the lines on the highway
are the closest thing i have to home
there are miles between
the people who held my heart with gentle hands
and the people who snarled their teeth to tear it apart.

i think of my grandmother's tears
falling from her face to my arm
and my grandfather's last exhale of hope
telling me that i have to be good
we are family mija
we are together to be good


i imagine blade penetrating skin
to be covered in the blood when it exits
i imagine his beer falling from his hand
half empty
half full
soaking into the ground

all over the fence
jump the fence.
jump the fence.
can you jump the fence?

the sun removed his alcohol saturated blood
from the ground my grandfather called holy
sometimes we stand at the window
he signs a breath of remorse
a breath of regret
a breath that says everything

this is not my home.
where my heart was torn apart
by snarled teeth.
there are only lines on the highway.
kenny
Written by
kenny  houston
(houston)   
197
 
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