The Gift

We struggled for a while to put it all behind us;
our bodies dragged on like the trails of planes
descending into the horizon.
We tried to wipe away the signs of our existence,
mothers made sure that our letters were burnt.

We washed our hands twice;
our fingertips were nothing but a foreign language
learning how to correct our tenses.
We all belonged to one corner of society
and sunk our olive bodies into fitting in;
like a desperate moth haunted by the same street lights.

Our patterns disappeared in seconds,
echo’s spoken on beautiful lips at parties
descended into myth.
But our children, naturally never heard of us
and our bodies float up in exile
to greet their faces as they sleep.