Fortune is hereditary.

I think this as I pass 
the woman who sits at the bus 
stop with a cardboard sign 
and I am out of change.

Fortune is hereditary 

because there was a girl 
in 3rd grade 
who came into school with no shoes 
and instead socks soaked with rain 

and misfortune is hereditary 

because it never stops loving its 
victims 
and holds their hand, too afraid to let go.

Misfortune loves the vulnerable
like 
fire loves kerosene 

and they say home is where the heart is 
but that is harder to believe 
when your heart is in the freezing cold 

and winter is too long, but so 
is spring and fall 

and I think about 
the carefully angled photographs 
sitting on the shelf 
between my kitchen and hallway 

and the flowerpot filled with pens 
on the windowsill 

and falling into a bed made of 
memories and warm food 
and my mom's perfume 

and home is not where the heart is 
because my heart is in the night sky 

and there's no air to breathe in too fast 
in the night sky.