The fireworks carry on unabated, you watch them from your bed in disbelief. From across the country, news comes in of at least two mass shootings into the holiday crowds. From the nation's capital, a steady stream of law that removes our rights, one by one. We are itching for a war to make us feel better again. Your parents look at houses but think maybe their immigrant dreams misled them and this isn't where they ought to be looking, at all. At the end of a long weekend away from your to-do list, the Words resurface, remind themselves to you, turn into poetry around the edges of your skin. There was something I was meant to be doing on this earth.
Whatever this is, it isn't it.
An answer is starting to wind itself through your heart. Like I dream you only just cannot remember.
But I am getting there. Hold your breath.
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