because
we sailed
the pacific
wide with
whales
breaching
on both sides
of the boat.
small, rickety,
grandmother
at the helm,
I am here.
now
on the stone,
my sunday best,
collared shirt
& pants that
balloon out
at the hip.
jesus is close,
his breath on
my neck,
hand over
my eyes.
people
are shouting,
but my ears
hold only
ringing.
I am
american
the way
fireworks
crack open
my chest.
it is beautiful.
blooming paint,
shrapnel-kissed.
white
& blue & red
all over.
mother, tell me
the story
again of
the deers
who ate
fallen beets
the day
I was
born.
the beets
are falling,
out of
my chest,
my neck,
the bottom
of my
stomach.
will the
fawns
catch them?
I want
them to eat,
make
their tan
bellies full,
pick up
the pieces
I have left.
