10.29.13
I spend an hour
with my eyes closed,
picturing myself as a kid
playing inside a house that wasn't mine.
Later, I hike in the cold
and sit on the cliff over the big empty valley.
It's windy.
There are just six people down there
who don't think they know better.
I come home to the dishes and the dark.
The squirrel eats the pumpkin on the deck
before it rots. Everyone wants to tell me
what kind of daughter I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment