The boy in Venezuela, wiser than his years, learning
to draw from the twisted skulls of his father’s
tattoo parlor. His hope burns bright blue.
Shacked up inside, safe from his peers smashing
Buenos Aires. Shattered-
his family strewn across two Americas.
He waits for the day he’s learned enough
to come to the States and say
He floods the chatroom,
his lofty goals almost seem attainable
with his optimism. No task is too large
until he starts creating, struggling under
the weight of his own ambition like an ant
who took a leaf intended for a bigger bug.
And though we may never meet;
I will carry that dream, in part
because he’s too naïve to see he needs
help. I want to blow that leaf and its little pilot
across the ocean to a place
big enough for his dreams.