I wanted to strike a match to our blood ties
and witness the destruction of the oak tree
generations prior to us have swung from.
Document the eradication of familiar yet
alien faces as they melted into ooze,
dripped into sludge, then became the ash
that dances with the wind.
I wanted to hold solitary vigil among the
skeletons and fleshy corpses that whittled away
before my eyes and whisper,
“At last we are finished here.”
That by doing this, I could somehow end
the screaming hurt that tells me I am
as far from belonging to the connected tissue
of our last name as I am closer to understanding
any kind of God.
I wanted to strike a match and lay waste
to the years of loving that fell on deaf ears
and gnarled closed off branches—
I wanted to be free.
However, the desecration of blood is more
difficult than I ever imagined and even fire
cannot scorch away the memories of the
I will always care while wondering up at the
stars my inability to forget.