Bones Remain Alive
Loitering around at the expense
of my parents back,
I too wish to be at the resemblance
of hardworking thumbs,
those same fingers that sewed
the futile grounds back home,
my mother’s yuca farm,
my father's dying crops,
dance taking their final
waltz with the tumble-
weeds in direction
where my ancestors
sleep while their bones
continue
to prosper,
their voices evoke
within the breeze
that had asked
for generational appeal
to the heavens that took
their last breath,
“My body crisp
at the sight of the sun,
my mind wavers as my heart
knows endless
bounties of weeds,
twisting,
turning,
suffocating,
all of life beneath
our breaths,
Yet The Night is upon us,
offering eternal rest as
mercy has finally reached
it's limits, a new vision
begins alongside
the Golden
thread of Youth,
a soul that marked
a beginning and now
an end.”
All that's left withered
away as each ancestor
departs,
my parents left their grounds,
the vibrancy of life dried
up leaving no generations
behind,
My Youth became
their bodies and my life
framed forever in each
era of my ancestors.
Copyright ©
Diana Morales
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