Poems from agillies
I am from yellow chipped paint,
From Talimage and Brant streets,
The year round scent of Eucalyptus tree dust.
I am from radio stations,...
You let my arms turn into holes.
You watched as the holes swallowed up all of the garden lizards and tomato plants in my mother’s backyard...
I want to look at treetops with you and count the leaves as they fall to the ground and turn into city lights. I’ll ask my mother...