Diffused like a bonfire burned with rain as the spark
sprinkles over a pair of heavy-duty, protective boots,
with stern eyes (but please do lay out your mysteries
on the table, on the scratched marble finish, to-day)
blurred from a wet downpour, it leaves you drenched
& unable to head towards the thin, hollow horizon.
Like tempered glass, home is a cloak you force all—
all the families, celebrations, savouring the moon—
into a place uncharacteristic of your home country;
cracking the blood-red creature pulsating within,
declaring, “You’ve no right to be here” (but who’s
to say who chooses assimilation or resistance? When
did these people come? I don’t know, and I don’t
care) as you glare at a family flooded in destitution.
My family sits beside me, as dad’s mouth is bitter:
past memories are all shot by a bow and arrow.
Poem by: Timothy Bai-Nielsen
Image by: Timothy Bai-Nielsen
Timothy Bai-Nielsen is a poet, songwriter, and a soon-to-be-senior student in his local high school. He has been involved in the craft of poetry for 3 years but expresses excitement and ambition towards sharing his art with people. His favourite poet is Ocean Vuong.
Backwards Trajectory 