I stop to admire the cracks,
the defects in the painted walls
lining my new city.
bright blue or coral to
deter the mind from
slum or gentrifying
pay my respect in photographs
trying to remember how the
boulders haunted too,
how the ocean felt on my ankles
how it feels to lose several small countries,
the crumbling block a metaphor;
dazzling overcoat that catches my eye
but nothing natural except its unsteady demise,
its inability to keep a home safe.
the way men have touched me
the way they left me;
cracked and unable
to keep a home safe.