No One Wants To Hear Them.

The flowers are blooming in the yard.
My sister is singing to her two-year-old sun,
who is rising out of the ashes in a song.  Tomorrow is never
coming, but today is always here.  I make chocolate milk.
Yesterday I walked into the door.  It wasn't the first time,
but not the time before that, and the time before that,
I too, woke up into a song.

I don't remember how I got there/
someone must have drove me.

I eat chocolate all the time.  It makes me less fat,
it burns calories.

I try to change myself for myself, but still I am angry
at the death of my father, my brother's poorness,
the inequality of a country.  Not sure which country,
maybe all of them, because we still have poverty,
we still have the poor trying to sing for their supper,

when no one wants to hear them.
I do.
But I dare not say.