The march

8.5.13

woke up on the floor again.
drank from the amber jar
water poured two blocks
away. 
lugging boxes
under the absurd
blueness.
what was I supposed to do.
I grew up across town.
the neighbor mowed
over my garden and I
stood out on the stoop all day singing
the national anthem
to the drone of air conditioners.
they woke me up three days before
my ninth birthday
and we went.
it’s august this time. 
past dogwood,
past magnolia. 
I want to jump in the car
and get out of here.  the mountains
twenty minutes west.
the river thirty minutes
east. 
bone-tired.  the war I know I’m not
going to win. 
so I make it a peace march.
this is my flag of freedom.  I'm alone
in the yellow room, breathing.
how much farther can I go?