I can’t tell them about the shackles
without them telling me about Shaquille O’Neal.
I can’t tell them about black death
without them telling me about their great-uncle from Ireland.
I can’t tell them about Angel Island
without them telling me to let them play Devil’s Advocate.
I can’t tell them about trains inventing time zones
without them telling me that the Pomodoro method would help my writing.
I can’t tell them about prison labor
without them telling me to judge if John Henry ever really lived.
I can’t tell them about the lungs filled with crystals
without them telling me about Gold Mountain and golden spikes.
I can’t tell them elegies are the only song a steam trumpet can play
without them telling me how pain creates the best music.
I can’t tell them this future was contracted and leased a long time ago
without them telling me I have to stop living in the past.
I can’t tell them about all the shadows who built this world
without them telling me my work doesn’t have to be so dark.