I carry tears in my tear ducts that ready 

to rupture down my cheeks-

 tracing my temples

and mingling with the salt in my hair

from the the Sao Paulo breeze. 

Good-Bye.

I carry faces

that whisper in my mind.

My avô’s face, so thin

the cheeks scooped out.

My primo, her youthful face 

graced with angles and lines like a queen.

Good bye. 

I carry hope

in my rugged heart

and through each knob along my back. 

My sinewy hands ready to work,

aged with the prism of the sun. 

Good Bye. 

I carry a scoopful of dirt from my country,

clutched in my shaking fingers.

My “home”.

But I know that once in another land,

the dirt will slip out 

and flow with the air-

Disappearing forever.