on stone

my mother thriving,
my father now dusty bones,

my parents are like my countries
and I am the land
between the deserts and the prairies.

America and my home Kingdom,
they are nothing alike.
Like my parents, they are divided
by simple things, small ideas,
that still keep them worlds apart.

my worlds, my parents, both are wrought
with ancient passions and dust,
nothing my dad’s visa or
love for my mother’s beauty could have bought.

My worlds, my parents,
both stand separate and contrary,
both are changed and old.
and neither here nor then,
my lost home or father,
will find me consoled.

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