scaling these cliff walls
feels easier than your words
of guilt and judgment
yet, rivers sparkle;
ancients thrived here, not survived
(just like you and me)
too much to take in–
the beauty of history,
of sights still unseen,
of children’s faces
as youth clings as fleetingly
as the setting sun
we are captive here
in these soft moments of light
(help me preserve them)
you couldn’t steal this:
ancient homes, history learned,
survivors by cliff
or these sweet faces
of my three girls, unafraid
to face your world
no, you can’t take that;
my identity’s in words
found here. not with you.
waffles fuel our view
to ride into the sunset
finding our way home
road trip starts to end
with wide open river views,
bridges to cross them
Kentucky burns bright
holds together rebel groups
and holds our heart tight
Kentucky wins me
with giant bookstores; ice cream;
and sweet niece faces
each night a red sun
to lull us to country sleep
on our road trip dream
cousin love beats all:
it spans a small continent
and breaks the divide
three-storied row homes,
a riverfront fountain park,
DC’s a winner
our cycle closes
with a capital bike ride
and a pointed view
with paths everywhere
this city has won my heart
even in the heat
where honor presides
through a symmetrical stroll
of fallen soldiers
DC mixes all:
museums, monuments, paths
marking past; future.
we find ourselves here
remembering our lost dreams
in these reflections
a cultural mix
in language, architecture
(our country’s center)
library of all
holds too many gems to count
a sight for sore eyes
best of both worlds:
fusbol, patatas bravas
right here in DC
best of all worlds:
my family together, here,
discovering this.
in the man’s big house
they built him a three-room suite;
his children lived here:
remnants of slave life:
hard-hitting and far-reaching
(Black Lives Matter. Now?)
they dug up red clay
to lay every brick … by brick,
by breaking their backs
his famous status:
founder of freedom, writer
(declared our country)
brick by brick by brick
he laid his lies and kept his slaves
and wrote our future
and we swallow it
and throw coins at his gravestone
and try to forgive
they all shared this view–
from the big house; the slave house;
the land formed by God
and so we move on,
brick by brick by road by road
to see its beauty
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