looking out airplane window at engine and white clouds and mountaintops below

Pathlights Home

The other half of me lives across the world.
The roots of mama and baba, agong and apo, cling to the rocks of a red clay soil,
While their meristems were supplanted, relegated to the cool nectar of
Coca-Cola.

As I dig my forehead into the frost-bitten plane window,
I imagine lines convalescing upon the clouds.
A languorous celestial line of
brown knap-sack peasants clamoring for the sun.
Of dreaming academics, imperially slim.
Of my own family, steps lined with gold, struggling against weighty dreams.
All tripping over calloused feet to drink a sweeter water.
Their eyes fixated on edges, the reprieve comes only
to mindlessly sip some bitter herb tea.

So earnest, so keen, thoughts so clean upon arriving,
they forget —
water flows in only to flow out.