ISSUE 1: SUMMER 2015 / POETRY

“Grey Baby”

BY REBECCA GONZALES

A grey baby has no distinction of color,
No signs of joy
Or clinging or anger,
Where home has never seemed to occur to them.
Born drifting off
To some compartment or dug out
In their flesh.
She was born a grey baby big ol’ eyes
Looking for something
And she says
She has been stumbling
In the darkness
Of some demons ever since.
She hasn’t quite figured it out,
None of us have, really,
But if I knew which direction to reach
I’d have grabbed her up
a long time ago.
She was born a Grey baby
Searching with haunted eyes
At all those foreign
Pieces of herself
With alcoholic tendencies
She gets heavy,
So heavy I can’t look
‘case she reminds me of the secret
acquired taste
I’ve developed
For my own bile,
and that polite schizophrenia
that just won’t fuck off.
But I am not the one that needs saving
She is the one born
This grey baby, pretty
Even beautiful at times
And
When she cuts
She says she feels
So real
So here
So completely
Like all those pieces belong
To her
And the searching and the haunting
Make some sense in the
Carved valleys of her skin
Maybe that is where she made “home”
Or maybe her home is in the ride
The commute from the places she’s been
And the place she is trying to get to
And I can only wish upon all the stars
That I get on the same bus
At some point
While we are on our way
We’ll talk and we can recognize on another
In a gesture or a pause
And for a pocket of our time
We can be home; one to the other.
I want that she knows I love her
Whatever that means.

 
 
 

“sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment”

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