sorted

I have almost forgotten about the canyons.

The sloping forever pink

the hot

broken through by sky.

I can barely remember the woman

sitting on her fold up chair

with her metal push cart

yelling TAMALE!  TAMALE!

While I climbed the metal stairs

at the 137th Street stop.

There will not be Utah next time.

I climb up from the other side of the castle

now.

My professors are all growing

and I am finally wearing socks that match.

I haven’t changed unless in milimeters

or it is easy to forget my own face.

Where do I go when my eyes close?

To sleep?

To the concrete yard outside when the sky is

bruised but not bleeding with morning yet.

Why is adjusting so much like

dreaming in a fever?

Next time we will drive north

next time

next time next time

there will be no broken door knobs

no packs of wolves

with bags of goodies

I do not miss the

I do not miss the

Darkness settled like a net dripping seaweed

and I felt myself fight back

but I had no mouth to scream.

And I felt myself fight back

but the bugs were under the cupboard

Last night was only yesterday

but she played her songs

like her father wasn’t there

and I wanted to know how she did it.

my father will always be reminding me that I

am his daughter

am her daughter

have a family

cannot float

or be swallowed up by the sea

there are things I miss

but I can barely remember

what’s changed

Advertisements

About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry, Summer. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to sorted

  1. Zachary Cochran says:

    I miss it too.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s