I grew up in love with green hills
and yellow morning fields
when frost makes the earth too cold to kneel on.
My momma’ watched All My Children by the fire.
I crushed on Charles, the runaway teenager who
came barely out of a coma.
I grew up in love with blue couches and dirty white
dotted cushions
where I laid sick so many times short, metal bowl
by my side.
In love with blue skies on white branches
and tunneling through the soft batter of half baked
banana bread.
I could see Hanging Rock
bigger than the other hills
on my way to 5th period
where I fell in love with the notion of learned things
of stored knowledge and perspective
of oceans and Ironwood trees
in love with future sunsets, prolonged and scarlet
and with love freshly discovered,
folded up neatly onto my bed quilt, in morning
stretching light.
I know warm muffins
and the way my dad swings an imaginary baseball bat
when he talks.
I know car rides asleep in the back seat on my brother's
solid shoulder (green coat)
in the night down from Baltimore
Nancy Griffith singing to me on the radio.
I don't want to leave blue couches
always reaching for tall Oaks
and Orion watching over.
