Kailey Morand
On my first night, cramped in the abundance,
I clash with the confines of two-foot tall
sleeping quarters. Again confined to space
nobody else wants. Trained to be small, I’m
relentlessly successful. This travel trailer
cannot hold a family of four, if you can call us that.
My moms are living in a compact vehicle at the center
of an empty acre, haunted by the ghost of an unborn home.
Reason conflating purpose, the pair of them silent
in your reclamation. Houston, Texas, baby.
But, isn’t it beautiful?
Mama asks me.
Her wife Crystal, my stepmom
lurking to hear my response.
Yes, but are you two ever
going to do something with it?
This coffee pot was transplanted
from the house that held me to eighteen.
Their temporary home is a museum
for all we grew out of. I wish I could find joy
in limbo the way they do, aspirant domesticity
seamlessly disguised as adventure. Flip flops carry them
to the joint they’ll share on the barn porch: through these images
I find ancestry in our bloodless relation.
I am not convinced this house will ever be built. It’s okay, I’ll say.
You tried, but now you can go somewhere that might be kinder to you.
What is there in Texas anyway but dirt, sun, and suburban prejudice?
Our origins thrive in the land of convenience. This country is in need
of reclamation. Incapable of change, I yearn
to be from anywhere else. Those like me were welcomed into a world
to carve a home from unyielding dirt.
Kailey Morand is a junior at Northwestern University studying Creative Writing and Theatre with concentrations in poetry and playwriting. As a queer woman from Houston, Texas, she is committed to exploring the dissonance between identity and origin via creative research. Learn more at her website, kaileymorand.com.
