Cold Eyes

I come from the cold on my bed.

I come from the blood flowing down my arms,

From when I punched the tree in front of my house.

I come from the air I try to inhale when my asthma kicks in.

I’m from the angry waters that flooded my home,

And the eye of the monster that took the lives of millions,

The cloud that covered New Orleans in 2005

I’m from a backyard where I picked

Oranges with my great grandfather on the only

Morning I remember where the warm sun shined in my cold eyes.