ancestry
i suck the desperation out of my teeth
and run my tongue over the lack.
i haven't called my father in months,
his loneliness aches in the pauses
in between his unsolicited advice
and i can't bear how much i recognize
the same silence in my marrow.
his mother, though he'd hardly call her that,
scours ancestral records, the news, and archives,
reeling in her half-life.
she talks to herself late in the night
praying someone else is listening
as if they could learn from her mistakes.
his brother, if his heart still beats,
roams arizona streets with little more
than poison coursed veins
while his son calls me with gritted teeth
as he rips open wounds that won't close,
asking, "but, how are you?"
i hungrily seek others' pain,
locking eyes with people slumped
in a grey chair,
in the streets,
in the rainy city,
in the hopes that i can suck the poison out of their mouths.
are we all running in circles around ourselves,
patching up each other's hurts while ignoring our own?
i'm a year and a half into
a lifetime of this,
will i ever believe ancestral wounds can heal?
will i ever come to terms with the lack?
maybe then i'll call


















