Of Clothed Homes

Of Clothed Homes

I wish to write a poem 

of hope, 

no coins tossed.

to write about a boy 

who wishes to pull a tree from its roots. 

times he won’t fall asleep, waiting 

& still find unrest in his dreams. 

 

I don’t want to hear about how he held on 

to that man’s eyes like his danshiki, 

a silent prayer on his lips – pregnant clouds, 

a beckon for  rains, soothing ones, 

all on the ground he won’t leave 

 

again. 

 

and for once, a knot won’t be formed, 

the surface tension around his heart 

won’t thaw, 

won’t thin. 

 

& perhaps, a home 

can still avoid being naked. 

 

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