There are shows nowadays
that let us ride along
safely from our homes
with the kind of people
who cast an imprint on the flat world
that you and I travel on.
My uncle, the sailor, for example,
who got a tattoo in the Navy
before they became crackerjack stickers
or cheap substitutes for personality
was one of those who marked the earth
with his work and left behind a hurt
now that he’s gone past horizons
we cannot yet get to;
and we are left at the pier, standing by an edge
measuring the air with everyone around
until we are met with what we can recall –
which are all the pieces of the world
he scraped off with his fingertips
and nails to bring home
and mix with the salt of our meals.
Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.