here in miami,
palm trees abound.
there,
where beaks poke through shells every april,
life abounds.
here,
palms stay hung to their crosses
atoning for crimes we’re unaware of.
there,
you’re also forced to watch raccoons decay in the road.
the sight makes you wince.
you can’t smell the rot,
or see the home maggots have taken up in the carcass,
only fur slowly disintegrating into flesh.
a bittersweet reminder that this will not last forever.
here in purgatory,
death lurks but never comes.
the worm is just out of reach.
the palm trees are only green.
the palm trees are always green.
the more time you spend here,
the easier it is to forget what life was like there.
your favorite nursery rhymes sound like the commotion of traffic.
you can’t taste the delight of blue skies anymore,
your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.
you can’t run into your father’s arms,
the sun binds you to the pavement;
your roots are beginning to take hold.