2am my time

I’m worried if I write too much I’ll be like the bird

A dead bird that walked on water

Momma said when I was 3 years old 

I looked at my husband and said 

“Let’s go far far away,” and here I am 

Farther than away 

And I can’t hear my thoughts because 

I don’t want to be afraid

I want to read my lines on paper and know that Alma Cherry forgives him and makes peace with Sam Stool’s and all the cousins that didn’t really want to speak English but we did 

It’s the way this woman would sit in Gran’s green rockin chair, fingers quiet. Long grey braids I want my grandchildren to tie mine like a crown someday 

I would inch up to her as close as I could to hear her speak so often she did not 

Mom said it was because Cherokee was her song she would visit with my grandmother in silence, maybe they shared cigarettes there is something about a shared cigarette – I know I am not allowed to romanticize a plant of such kind 

But can we talk about loneliness

How it takes 15 sticks of whiteness to multiply the equivalence of loneliness 

A couch sunk full of women cradling a wand thats breath is my love, smoke is my love language 

My husband said he wants to quit but a part of me loves going to the cafe

Watching him smoke as I inch up to him too 

Listen to his song his hair isn’t gray and he doesn’t have braids but he feels like my favorite green rockin chair

He smells like the flower farthest away

And the smoke is no longer in my eyes 

Because I’ve trained for a crown of comfort, comfortable, in my own body,

Do you hear that? I am not worried anymore

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