The Search

 
So fruitless is the search,
any search. I thought
the wetness of fresh
strawberries were
diamonds but I am still
poor, though my
spirit rages bright.
The ghosts of my
grandparents are
working hard in
the nothingness
of afterlife.
When it is my time,
they will be at an airport
holding a sign with
my name, waving
wildly as an oak
during a storm.
I will wave back,
not knowing
the ubiquity

of rain.

---

Serpent

 
a red serpent lives inside me
keeping venom in my blood
and I don’t mean this as a sin
or shame but rather a reality
like toxins in the grass and
in the fruit we eat, everywhere
everywhere silent killers lurking
in the stems of tomatoes growing
rapidly, the chemicals in me
and in your child, oh god,
there’s a serpent in your child
and if we yank it from his throat
our serpents will bite and bite
until we forget the garden