Rainman

The grief my father carries,

I carry it upon my shoulder.

My mother’s unmended heart —

in a silver jewelry box.

My brother’s sorrow,

in hate, in helplessness,

I carry it around:

a piercing dagger

against my chest.

Afar alone,

for the love-dew, my girl yearns,

I carry her thirst — in my throat —

before in summer wail spatters

the washing rain.