She is staring at her dusty hands
wondering if they show that she came from
dry dirt roads
or their end –
the great wide blue
that filled her mind.
She wasn’t born into it,
she believes,
but grew into it
like a soft
hand-me-down.
She thinks
I’m outgrowing it.
She thinks
I want to wrap it around me
but now I can’t.
She thinks, Ma I’m scared.
She watches a fly
dart at the car window and thinks
maybe we are all just trying
to get home
but she doesn’t know if she knows
where hers is anymore.
Home
by