call this my state
ribbons of roads lined with trees
this is my deciduous forest
this is my home
on the corner
I am infinitely alone
growing up in a dying city
is a paradox of sorts
I can’t see what my mother saw
the good in this city that persuaded her to choose it
above all others
but I’m still young
and have little to compare it to
I can’t show you any mercy
as I rip myself away
like a Band-Aid from skin
the only way to go out
is with a bang
because I’m not going far
and I might be back later
more ready
than you’ve ever been
born an open road
a highway
a skyway
the Brooklyn Bridge knows your name
are we going to fade away
when we leave this place?
a shooting star cutting across the sky
pack our bags in the last hour of the night
flesh can tell
can tell when things are changing
moving, growing
learning
–
Written by Jill Sarah Greenberg.
Jill is a photographer, feminist, apple eater, Oxford comma user, early bird, and night owl. Follower her on Twitter and Instagram at @jilleatsapples.
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