The Definition Of Homeless

The greatest challenge for me is to accept the definition of homeless
when a storm is screaming in from the Atlantic

(children marveling at the raindrops pounding at the glass of their bedroom windows, refracting streetlights in golden shadows that slide down their faces like tears of joy)

transforming our little makeshift home to ripped fabric and twisted metal poles
nylon flapping in the wind (I surrender)

(look after your mother, go get your mother)

I take her by the hand while she wails and pulls against me

(please, no, it's all I have left)

we flee
and sleep in our crowded van that night

(a tree cracks and slams into the Earth, and a baby cries for her father, but her father never answers)

the boys
huddling in their sodden jackets under flickering florescent lights
in the open public bathroom with its yellow walls and ugly tile floors
men (scarred and broken little boys)
cracking jokes about
life

(he tips his head up to the sky and tells God that he fucking hates Him, he fucking hates Him, and he just. wants. to. die.)

and the girls, they curl into each other
head to breast
batting at nightmares that smell like rain water


and

then

the

sun

rises

and there is no home to crawl back to
no bathroom with a warm medicine cabinet and pink Hello Kitty stickers
no bedroom with a closed door to sob quietly in soft cotton pillows
no bourbon
no bible
no humming over a warm kitchen stove
no television no Internet no music no phone
no laughter
no extra clothing but for the sodden fabric on their backs
no cash or food or water

and no shelter

save for the forests
and rivers
and stars.