109

Orbits of grace

At the in’s of me

Right here

I fall

110

Times a day

Like something

That still glows

Tucked, under

A single address

My land of traumas

Heightened with fear

A place that holds

My childhood

So terrifyingly

Deciphering torment

And the inability

To seek help

From people

Who watch you

Fall, in less dirt

Painful terrains

This is Cuba – 1979

Martyrs of disguise

Making parenthood

Less fiable

As everyone

Is too busy

Surviving

Their

Own

Imprisonment

I’ve been

A lonely walker

For decades

This life

Has taught me

To believe

That above my name

There is a vacancy

A beautiful sky

With blue lips

That speak for me

Making peace

For the rest

Of my existence

Like a road

That is long

Yet spangled