I have no knowledge
\nof my parents\u2019 births.
\nWhether sunshine tapped on the window,
\nthe wind strummed through the eaves
\nlike a violin.
\nIf rain was falling.
\nTime has puffed out the
\nflame of their beginnings.
\nWhere heaven was
\nwhen they were delivered,
\nand like all humanity
\nborn to uncertainty and hardship.<\/p>\n
What I have are stories,
\nthe sound of voices,
\nbodies touching,
\nand the confusion of happiness
\nand catastrophe.
\nNow being and non-being
\ncuts them off from me.
\nA river with no bridge.
\nOn opposite sides, I hear no call,
\nno answer to mine.
\nI have seen nothing,
\nand turned away
\nto a geography without them.
\nWhere years are the milestone
\nof distance in the same galaxy.<\/p>\n
Yet the hands in front of me
\nare theirs.
\nThese eyes that see are theirs.
\nShadows in the woods
\nare seen the same.
\nHunger at my plate is theirs.
\nMy dreams are fashioned
\nin the same theater.
\nHolding things they used
\nand touched I say,
\nit is not over!
\nYou are real!
\nI tuck you in at night.<\/p>\n
I cry when I see my mother
\nwatch her father die
\nwhen she was six.
\nMy father confronting his
\nfather\u2019s suicide
\nwhen he was ten.
\nBullets that tore their son
\nfrom them in war.
\nMy father confronting his agony
\nin a vision,
\nconfirmed by a telegram.<\/p>\n
Poverty, worse than most.
\nFor quests at our table,
\nmore water in the soup.
\nWhat a lovely morning,
\nthis morning in April!
\nThe world blossoming.
\nLife composed in my heart
\nby love with remarkable people.
\nAt the border of a mythical river,
\nan empty shore on the other side.
\nMy hands holding the sunlight
\nof my life for them,
\nmy words shivering with love.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I have no knowledge of my parents\u2019 births. Whether sunshine tapped on the window, the wind strummed through the eaves like a violin. If rain…<\/p>\n