Pure cherry kisses lost between the winds.
We hide the red in our cheeks
And blood on our chins.
But the sun won’t raise again if we stay,
If we silently wait for our shins
To get stuck in the clay.
So your eyes well up with muddy waters,
My chest is full of sharp pins
As I’m cursing the fathers.
And then we’re torn apart by the sinking sand.
Still – we know that it’s better
Than laying down roots in this land.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 