Can't Forget You

To wage our own war against identity,
we break our necks to prove that people rarely change.
I have grown up wearing the same clothes,
that my mother wishes I disregard as past.
But sometimes I see a stain- a butterfly,
of blue-grey dip dye which expands
and forms a wingspan which covers my body.

As if to prove that nothing really disappears
like breath and memory;
slotting between our golden body to form
a skeleton of opinions which are engraved.
We go to the beach and dig for hours but
theses opinions slip through our fingers
like water. Shining like prayers sheets;
as if this is how our ancestors set out
our language. We each grab a piece of land

and pile our protection around its shell.
But know that the tide is coming
and history is outside our window repeating
itself, where people watch their brothers,
sisters and aunt’s fall down the same black hole
that they have spent their lives’ avoiding.
Wishing they could drag their speechless, formless
embryos from birth and keep them safe.