My great-grandfather
stands with his daughter
next to the unsown field
of their newest farmstead.
Her short bobbing hair
whipping,
warping̷̦̭̳̞͔̫͖̞͔̉̈̍͗̓̉͛͒̋̌̍̈́́͒͌̈́͑̚͝͠͝,
threading,
into miles of leafy greens.
Where he chases lightning
down a path of oyster shells
and swings my mother
over his left shoulder.
Their faces distort
under running water,
and now he’s holding me!
But just as I hear him
start to speak after saying
my name-name-name-name,
color bends and bleed̷̫̦̪̀͗̐̏̿̀̏̌͆̀̈͝ŝ̶̭͍̭͓̦̔̓̅̇́̋́͐͒͌͜͠
from magnetic decay.
A̶̮̭̜̟͂̏̊̏̎̒͒̃̀̆̃̓̅̈́͝͝ dial-up screen rings out
over a fountain of black tape
spilling onto the floor.̴̧̛͔̝͚̹͉͍̼̙͚̱͇̫̱̼͙̔͊̀̀͆͐̈́͆̉̿͋̆̍̀́͆͊̃́̽̅̽̾̚͠͝
A promise that couldn’t be broken—
or a secret that was mine to hold—
lies somewhere in between
metal teeth and the fold.
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