Draft

Draft

Something precious has been ripped 

from us. Something with a name 

they can’t pronounce has been shuttled away 

as it crossed the street in search 

of citizenship with itself. We know this 

because we were there. We drove the van 

and pointed out the face we saw

in the mirror. When we heard our voices

speak their native tongues

and could not understand,

we condemned them with a kiss.

Sometimes grief is clear, loud

as a Coke can cracked in a library.

Other times it’s what disappears

like the breeze-blown receipt

for what we purchased, and just when

we most desperately need

                                         the return.