Poem published in invisibilities, issue no. 2 (Home).

Paper trace

the first and only time
I’ve had my tarot cards read
she said, something happened to you
at a young age                    there was a death
searching my face
she adds             or a significant life change
someone was left behind

when I told her that my mom, sister,
and I moved from venezuela to canada
and left my dad there                      she understood
she said it was like a part of me had died
like he had died

standing up growing up
on the couch, peeking through
scratchy curtains from the drafty
basement window          I always thought
something bad would happen
to mom that she wouldn’t come home
but she always did          sometimes late usually

the second wave women’s movement
called it the double shift:
woman goes to work, comes
home, performs domestic labour for family
but how many shifts
does a brown immigrant
single mother of two do?

friday night       young
adult grows wise and boring
on the couch     shifts uneasy
into the cold restless night
leaving body

friday night first-gen teen
tries the drug      her dad made her swear
she wouldn’t try
walking to Sherbrook St.
friday night first-gen kids
build intricate card houses
knowing they will fold in