birch trees were magic
mountains screamed distantly
your mother woke you gently
from a bad dream
but life was
a flat prairie and
love was a
bird you could call
my father roared with injury
my mother revved the engine
and then she would leave
she bought diamonds
and silently threw them at me
he locked the doors
and i'd wait outside till morning
I'd crack eggs at noon
and walk away from school
the ocean used to swallow me
i'd lay flat just to blend in
with stacks of driftwood
and wished that my bad choices
were dreams
and that's why I get bored
in the prairies.
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