Dust

when my parents moved to Florida 

my mother gave her most prized rugs to my uncle and asked him to hold them near until her children wanted them

my uncle kept the rugs for years and years as we went on with our lives and apartment living 

and homes too small for the weight of these rugs

the rugs rested on cold floors in the country 

waiting for us

five years passed, maybe more before we finally came for the rugs

memories rolled up into a uhaul and delivered to the suburbs

we laid the rugs out and our bodies were coated in dust

i have eaten the dust of my past

been blinded and choked by the dust of my upbringing

in this new life of ours, there can’t be dust

we took the rugs outside in a hailstorm 

and beat the rugs with brooms until the brooms broke and the wood splintered and the stubborn dust coated the ground 

and the hail turned our dust to icy chunks of mud 

we left the dust of our childhood in the backyard to melt until it was slowly washed away by rain

this is our new dust-free life

maybe