Dirt.

Dirt.

That’s what I remember the most about where I come from.

Covered the people that surrounded us.

Dirt covered clothes.

Gravel and smoke clouded voices.

The thick smell of filth.

Trailers at the end of dirt roads.

Holes in walls that met heavy fists.

The faces of their lovers broken by the same fate.

Dirty secrets.

In dirty homes.

Of dirty people.

Covered in it.