They have to go. – Trump
This is how I remember you: Thursday nights, stray curls
strong arms, beads & masks, stretch pants, your brown skin
On Thanksgiving you made empanadas.
Next to you I was a tissue waiting for someone to pluck me up
& blow. Your children petted the dog, their bodies like caramel-pops,
why the dog licked them so intently. Those kids got their good manners & sass
from you, why I message through seventeen time zones to ask how you are.
Though I’m angry, I know it isn’t about me.
Tired of pushing the boulder uphill to find flat land.
Rumour has it the top of the hill is rocky & the other side steep
so the boulder will roll out of control, crushing the second gens below –
it’s gravity, scary shit, which is why I’m saying I’d be calmer
if I could get my hands on some fungi