I. Deconstructing
I weave between evangelical crowds
protesting the interfaith peace park. Their
arms splay like bare branches against an
angry sky. Home is gnarled knots tangled
inside of me as I trudge past the bank to the
leaf-littered beach far from their dogma. He
meets me here and says he believes in
love—only love. We linger a bit longer,
alone save the squall.
I weave between evangelical crowds
protesting the interfaith peace park. Their
arms splay like bare branches against an
angry sky. Home is gnarled knots tangled
inside of me as I trudge past the bank to the
leaf-littered beach far from their dogma. He
meets me here and says he believes in
love—only love. We linger a bit longer,
alone save the squall.
dead branches—
I prune back my roots
II. Reconstructing
I weave between black walnut branches
lining the bank behind the beach. Gnarled
knots cover last year’s squall scars, the
gashes of a moment lashing out. Across the
street, the peace park with his memorial
brick still stands—though graffitied and
gray under the slate sky. I linger a bit longer
in the drizzle between branches before I
trudge towards what I once called home.
I weave between black walnut branches
lining the bank behind the beach. Gnarled
knots cover last year’s squall scars, the
gashes of a moment lashing out. Across the
street, the peace park with his memorial
brick still stands—though graffitied and
gray under the slate sky. I linger a bit longer
in the drizzle between branches before I
trudge towards what I once called home.
dead branches—
I revisit his roots
