I’m from a Marine base built
on the backs of
billions of bugs,
stewed in humidity and heat.
We drove in front of a hurricane
to leave that place behind.
I’m from pink snapdragons
and purple morning glories
that called me Chatterbox.
Yards of open playground
as far as my little blues could see,
green grass stains on my knees.
I’m from smog that cut through
rubber, paint, and freeway glut.
Wind tunnel streets dimmed by buildings,
people packed in sardine cans,
so close, and yet alone,
a sea of nameless faces.
I’m from more than
four seasons, counting
tourist season.
Mountains, wind,
and endless sky,
this is where I’ll dig my grave.
published in Imogene's Notebook
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