poachers & the first home

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

poachers

I’m so tired of loose
lips sinking ships—of
human cannons
shooting us with
lies, and creating a
mass of loblollies
with the full intent to
bury us alive.

we’re more than
flesh & bone, we’re
heart & mind, and
they must’ve forgotten
we can fight when a corner
is the place they
push us in.

a faulty administration is
running a nation,
betting with money
from people who’ve
poured their last into
a country they once
loved.

they have no clue of
what they’re doing,
yet they do, and
we’re the ones dying
a long death.
but, we’re the ones
fighting to stay
alive, too.

the first home

a short workweek
ahead for me—taking
pto for a trip
back to a place that
hasn’t been home in
21 years, but it’s still
home.

I’ve been eyeballing
the weather, got my
hawk’s view on 10,
monitoring changes to be
sure travel plans won’t
meet their demise.
I need to get away.

my mother will be in
tow—my nerves will work
overtime to keep her
anxieties at bay.
I’m craving fresh seafood,
familial hugs, and time spent
with people close to
my heart.

a quick mini
vacation to recharge
my energy—strengthen my
bones. prayerfully, none of
them will break from the
weight of the pain
that the first home
can bring.

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