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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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