1985

my mother
is a bronzed sun goddess
amidst rows of beans and corn.

the sky
is absolute blue.

my father
is somewhere
doing something
and emerges
once in a while with
a wheelbarrow
filled with stuff,
dirt covered pants hanging off his
bum.

i am staring into the sun
because someone told me i would go blind if i did
and i want to prove them wrong.
i am six.
white blonde
peasant blouse
cutoff jeans.

it smells like july
because it is.

soon
we begin digging a hole to china
yelling down it
digging digging digging
hoping they will hear us soon,
me and my counterpart.

then
i am holding a branch as high as i can
in the sky
trying to catch
a bird.

i still am

thumbs up

fascinate mesmerize make insane why?
i'm frightening,
like this
too much nothing making something,
yes.

this one last moment
contains all of it
ask me now, i'll tell you

i drop this
mask like a hot potato
problem is, it doesn't hurt to hold it

my brain tells me that

hello happiness, i see you on the other side
i'm hitching a ride