
Sidney and Walda Besthoff Scupture Garden, New Orleans
I’m transforming again-
this time I’m breathing through it.
Breathing in.
Breathing out.
Praying out.
Going in.
I prayed to be
broken, to keep
my heart open.
We’ll rub the scars with lotion;
keep the soul, anchored mind,
leave body go.
Got lost in;
Found my breath
in us-ratea (اسرتي),
Papa& um-me (امي).
From kennels if remorse,
water, son of divorce
grew bold,
bore the load.
Sowing roots in the sun.
Imagining branches in hand,
Fighting for a pulse; the son
Pausing to get into the land.
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