America, I see through your glass—
I stretch my hand and my fingerprints
are everywhere. Like leaves the gust blows in.
I don’t have money to feed your fountains
or enough water that it’s never a wish,
but America, I can’t stop drinking you in.
Your trains, their freight like hours,
like the vowels cut from my name.
When will you learn my name?
I’m running to you but I can’t get there
fast enough. I’m strung up on gridirons
and city lights. Aren’t my arms tired of reaching.
Isn’t my back tired of carrying this night around.
Be good to me like a summer rain, I swear I’m burning.
Photo by ArTeTeTrA