after u
disculpe, but
you remind me of a house
i kept in San Juan, all open doors
with
that same sound to their hinges.
i still hear them, voices
across the ocean, stare too long
at what i left behind, fold paper
into envelopes, and sail
change until i return.
tengamos que limpiar
our mouths every once in
a while to make room for our
sanity, but i left home too,
feet staggering from my tongue.
your words look just like a clumsy
leaving Kendrick, pobrecito, no hay
mucho tiempo.
Pero, what choice did we have?