Sonja

She sees my almost tears

the lightening of letting go

from the dust on the riverbeds

begging to water my cheeks

She asks- will we ever go home again?

I dance with a crooked smile

because it’s easier to chew a cliché 

than a knot you can’t swallow

No, I say. We can’t go home again.

I was raised in paradise 

by two broken parentheses 

strangers came and held the truth of my family

spread open

dissected

An experiment in tragedy

Undigestable.

Sonja said her father touched her

Asking in a tiny voice for me 

to wipe the slate clean

What does untouched feel like?

I try to relate

My sisters were taken away

Incest was exhaust fumes in a car left running

going nowhere

Purposeless. Deadly.

Pulling back skin from innocent bones 

that now only grow

crooked.

What does untouched feel like?

How does safe taste?

Clean isn’t clean without dirty. 

Home isn’t home without homeless.

No, I say. We can’t go home again.