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

Paper trace

1.
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

2.
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
exhausted

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?

3.
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