Revised poem: Home

So I 've been working on the "Home" piece some more. I'm not sure how this turned out but I think this is better! Let me know what you think.


Home-Coming

Boy,

you were not birthed of this womb

Don’t have

 my weathered hands

Don’t know

The pain of

Cracking open sores

Shaving my wild, citrine hair

Sowing it in brown scalps

Wash your pink hands

Try to get ‘em clean

Stand Straight,

Leaning Sapling,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up: branches and trunk

And leave you… to fall in to me

Boy,

Up in your fort

With all your favorite toys

Leaving a stain on the sky

With your greasy sun blocked nose

Why don’t you let your brother join you?

Smoking sage

still lingering in sweat glands

Heart still Bouncing

 like turquoise beads

He’s trying to cool with a double scoop

Of Garlic soft serve

But his toasted skin

Still sizzles and toughens

Like dusty leather chaps

Sometimes he tries to knock you out

With Plums and Tomatoes

But his arm

Is too tired from carrying me

Stand Straight,

Leaning Tree,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up branches and trunk

And leave you… to fall in to me

Boy,

A few more rings around your trunk

And your toy soldiers

Are melted into the battlefield

Waiting for orders

That will never come.

You’re too busy

Thrusting your pocket knife

Carving “Love” into trees…

(But only I can hear their screams)

Son,

You have a problem.

A mannequin modeled

From Magazines and Billboards

Is not molded with

Built in shelving for

A brain…

 Or a soul

I want you to dream

Of a full bodied woman

Smelling of empanadas and sage

Humming happily over the pot

As she takes

Taste,

After taste,

After…

 Taste…

But you never listen to me.

Stand Straight,

Leaning Tree,

You can’t wrench your roots from me

Someday someone’s going to

Chop you down to a bloody stump

Burn you up: branches and trunk

And leave you…to fall in to me

Boy,

Your daughter

Left her dignity on the corner

With a “FOR FREE” sign

And bought hard, watermelon implants.

She hides her brain next to her retainer

And shares her soul like Peanut Brittle

She’s naked except

 For the steel-boned corset

You bought her.

She squeezes in her

Post-lunch meeting with the Toilet

And Cellulite squatting on her thighs

Smashes them together

And laces it up…

Tightly.

Please

Stand straight,

Leaning Sapling,

Don’t wrench your roots from me…

Because you will fall in to me…

HERE LIES AMERICA.