I had a simple thought on a simple day

A spark of mundane revelation as our car passed on its way

through my mother’s old city, my dad and I a pair of ghosts in

a concrete haunt:

“This is no longer my home.”

And like a match to a flame, the realizations came

Her family just watched as she wasted away

Alone in sterile white green code-blue rooms

No, sorry, we can’t bring your clothes, or your food, or a shoulder to cry the pain into

Not a moment to spare in their so-busy busy lives

As my mom chased their love her eyes lost their shine.

(I was the only one to reach my small hands her way.)

The hospital three blocks down was too far,

but I guess six feet under was just close enough-

We buried her in a simple box on a simple day.

Like sediment on the sea floor, in piles of cigarette ash

Since I was born, this pain and this hurt grew as

I watched my mother die in the shadow of their love-masqueraded-malice.

Then I refused

swore on my life

I would not become the next family scapegoat

And wink out on a cigarette’s frail light.

I forged this bright pain into cold sharp flint and held it close to my metal heart;

I hacked myself clean from my mother’s family tree.

Instead I became the first family tumbleweed.

I was told that my anger would make me cruel

That edge is sharp, fire burns indiscriminately, you know. (I’m all too aware.)

Growing up I realized: Flint is just a tool.

For splitting wood, for sparking flame.

There’s nothing to fear from a sharp edge

Caution and care keep my hands safe.

I burned those bridges and built myself a boardwalk

a stronger foundation in a land of trees.

I took my leave in a world of leaves

And finally I put down roots among the other misfit weeds

All of us surrounded by others no longer alone

(in white green code-blue rooms, or forests made of concrete)

Us together knowing the golden rule:

Family shouldn’t hurt.

So we’d grew into our own.