Whatever I Did After Has Not Happened Yet

at a certain time the kitten stopped moving I wanted to see if it would burn rain like cane fields when they’re scorched after harvesting through the phone Abuelita remembers the black kitten I threw in the fire still trying to crawl out that ash isn’t snow Abuelo said shirtless I picked up a mound in my hand if I look back at my front door barefoot kids in the street try catching the flakes on their tongues come visit us they say nextyearnextyear I’ll try again dust covers the roof my toys my hair my expired work permit burns black the sky it is march again & again there’s no wind Abuelita asks us to send a bag of autumn leaves she wants to keep in a book the color so pretty interesting what if there’s no wind I ask while acid at Joshua Tree camping the slight movements of the twigs of the ocotillo sound like mice deep in their burrows with the silence of only this pen writing the only words I can hear hella yellow now I’m in a similar dirt to Abuelita’s yellow but here there’s healing the cold the sky the same I’m staring at clouds the same thought of then now again I could this could be the very cloud the very dirt but this time I’m happy yes I can be I’m smiling