I was born stubbornly late in a hot place
with hot bodies, and hot people. I was born to pinecones and peaches;
I was born down south where I
was laid to the marble and rocked by the sun,
with red slides and yellow swings. I returned with borrowed sunshine,
my hands gripping warm summer and soft rays of light.
I was born quietly rebellious; content to wait out prompts and que’s.
I gave laughter, I gave tears, I gave memories and a million pink balloons.
I was born to the early morning glow in the warm tease of heat,
air rising and falling with conflicted melancholy.
I was born a wonder and a curiosity and a soft smile;
I was a prelude to the breaking dawn when I was born.
I was born- chest-high, silent in the clouds, arms out legs out,
reaching but not, I was born
to these winding halls, this lethally beautiful labyrinth
I was born with a table of contents, followed by flies followed
by spiders, I was born wondering at the curious
technique of generational secrets.
I read books before I read people and places;
I sung a lonely solo of words before I was born.
