This flat place of my birth
where every neighborhood looks
like mine.
These freeways my once-young parents
saw to the hospital three times,
the grasses we picnicked on,
gardens of zucchinis and babysitters
who stole from us,
that lake where they met--
lifeguard trunks and fishing poles
and the never knowing what was to come.
Grey summer sky that does not
let up, let me crawl back
into you where I came from,
then come out again 26 years ago.
I am my mother now--I want to be
her child again.
