from there to here
__________________________

yes, your fingers bled on the cotton
you tripped over words like
jello and jump
a breathy silence beginning
your father’s name
jesus – not the son of…
but more like that
other god: ‘hey, zeus’

your friends were sent home
in the 50’s while you stayed –
wearing flour-sack dresses,
eating tamales
and wondering
how the future
would look different
than it did that day

never expecting
a repeat of history
more blatant than
the last and
while you wrestle
with this new order
your daughter writes poems
in a canadian city

where she was born
with snow angels
and hope
the colour of
every skin –
your people
a story bigger
than these words can hold