cloudy from the day you despise waking up, cloudy water, cloudy eyes of your grandfather.
eyes sore, hands sore, heart sore, from working for you, forever ungrateful, for so little pay.

organizing the band-aids and the mouthwash in the closet. prepared. I'm running away.
taking a string from the place I came, tying it to a leg of a chair you sit on. tying the other
end to my thumb. if we both happen to find cans, so be it, I'll be your telephone call.
remember that all those little waves mean something big to me, if I tug twice, pull me home.
my feet are starting to turn into the pebbles from the roads I've walked down, pressed into
my clay souls, absorbing into my blood stream so my heart will beat rocky.
remember the rain stick in your aunt's living room?
nails and rice, nails and rice. rain on windows. rain on roofs.