The wall behind the bench
is chalked, scratched, painted
with souls howling for belonging.
I want the bench to face the wall
so I can greet the graffiti
like a mother beckoning
her children into a group hug.
I touch the marks
like making a gravestone rubbing
to remember an ancestor
I never knew but runs
through my veins
where I am unaware
yet still feel the presence
like a tree limb scratching
at my window at night.