No way back home
For most of us
Parents gone, siblings don’t talk
Anymore, some dead.
We are lucky to have them
or not.
Mom embroidered dreams on our souls
Dad worked a twisted hour.
Now we are left with memories
Of memories.
That stuff we piled up in our minds
Freezes us at the wheel.
The kids come out, we regroup,
And lean into a grey sunrise
Hoping we’ll never be more heavy
Than this winter that could bury us all.