Pot of Gold

I don’t know where I’m from. The ferris wheel fell down. She looked like a doll. My dad is strong. Whenever the man came down, we played catch. He’s in jail. I wonder if Mac is in heaven. Papa is probably taking good care of him. I wanted tacos. So I went to the other country to get some. Orphan kids don’t cost much. Unless they’re crazy. Then the people with briefcases and paper take them to the special place. I would like to go there. But I’m not special. Basketball is hard to play. Especially when you’re skinny. The big people pushed me. Reading is better. Nobody bothers me when I read. Mom doesn’t like it when I lock the door. Friends are hard to find. So I lock the door. There’s not a pot of gold at the end of rainbows. I think that’s stupid. There should be a pot of gold there. But only for nice people. 

Where I’m From

I am from nowhere,

But I am from everywhere,

I am from the bustling streets in the land of the free,

The crowded towns in mountains where vampires be,

I am from where the buffalo once roamed,

The rolling green hills of the Old World uncombed.

 

I am from nowhere,

I am from everywhere,

I am from they who toiled in southern fields,

From those who across the vast ocean sailed.

I am from a people doomed to roam,

A people who have no temporal home.

 

I am miles from my safe haven,

I am like he who was visited by the raven,

I am in the place where I appertain,

Although I wish not to remain.

I am led by Moses through the wilderness,

But I am home in Canaan nonetheless.

 

I am on the road less travelled,

Hoping for the path to become unravelled.

I am walking through the narrow gate,

On a path that is being made straight.

I am sure of my destination,

And this is my greatest consolation.