For Us

Hello y’all!

Welcome to my second edition of The Decoy. Today, I am sharing a poem that was inspired by my nibblings, and their very powerful selves, even as preteens. They usually crack me up, and have very insightful things to say about the world. They are resourceful, and just funny. I obviously love them.

I do however, understand that their little lives have not been without difficulties, without struggles or pain. It is difficult for anyone growing up in the U.S., especially if you’re a child whose family struggles financially. I have been their age with those same struggles. I have been trying my hardest to give them a new world to live in, to show them beyond what is in front of them.

I cherish my time with them. This is for them, and for anyone who is making the world a better place for those who will remain, long past our very own flesh and bone.

For Us

What if this was it?
That fear, no matter what,
took refuge
in the crevices
of a crumpled piece of paper
you carry in your wallet

It is not a burden to carry,
but a reminder that
death’s influence
lingers
since the day you were born

And how hard this becomes to
explain to my niece and nephew,
who the scars of time are much more
fresh

I tell them
that I want them to
take their time,
that there is no rush
to experience the
free
fall
of wishing for something
you never worked a day in your life for

Because some days,
a creaky bone pops,
and you find new places to feel pain in

That being an adult is every
other day finding out
new things to worry about
climate change
guns
the police,
immigrants,
our parents

How each act of kindness feels
like an impossible lift
and yet
here
are your friends,
your family,
holding you,
lifting you into the heaven
that is getting out of bed,
knowing that it was impossible
for this to happen,
for us
to happen,
not the random chaos of the universe,
but an exact creation of souls tying to each other
over and over again

I stopped praying long ago
but in the moments where we laugh,
a woundless laughter, free of scars,
a boisterous cackle.
I can hear the whisper of those
who came after us,
asking us, their ancestors,
for small blessings
a glass of water
the love of their best friend,
the courage to apologize,
a box full of jewels, dreams, sage and charcoal

And that sometimes,
when I look into their eyes,
I see the tenderness of all those
it escaped from

Sometimes, I see myself,
solemn, in tears, hoping
that they listen to my small prayer for them

May you live, as you want to, for you, for me,
for us.