Saturday, November 6, 2010

I love writing "I was born" poems

"Stay dry out there."
Falls from empty lips toward my rain slicked wrists,
I smile and dodge the warning.
This was the wet sun I was born under,
air as wet as a child's crying breath.
As soon as I became
my body was covered in the amber leaves that sky shook down.
When my mouth first cried out,
the sunflowers were on their deathbeds,
gravity pulling yellow back to earth.
Under a bloated charcoal sky,
the horizon sighed
relieving the trees of their heaviest colors.
I am a disciple of eye drops and chapstick and long soaks in the tub (any tub).
My bones were born with mildew already inside.
I learned to grimace by watching the pumpkins bear their teeth
like candle-lit watchdogs.
If you carved out my face you'd find the flickers they planted there.
On one soaked and slanted evening like this
beneath the same hangdog sky
I came wet into the world.

breath sucked into my belly
I got caught in every motion
my temperatures flew by like a firetruck
angry flashes cornering the night.

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