​

faded fairytales of my youth

the fresno of grey beards

and veiny hands

asphalt and baseball and trips 

to the coast

 

children playing at being grown-up

when beer costs a quarter, 

the smoke is free

 

a mustache seated at the head 

of his table white and uneven 

where Miriam and I

cut it with the kitchen scissors

 

it chews on a toothpick 

and talks over grandma

dry laughter

through the bristles

 

i can barely taste the dust

in their throats,

it somehow chokes me too.

their golden era 

gleams of pyrite

 

i let it slip from childhood's grasp

for i am known by 

the mother of waters now.

 

i kick at Fresno's 

drought ridden streets

slow tears salt the earth, 

parched soil remembers the pacific

 

i dry up with it all

evaporate in thirsty air

my pain bleaches clean in the sun 

cauterized at long last