Dreaming

Dreaming of...

a time, long ago.
My mother is planting
seeds.
"What will they grow
to be?'" I asked.
She pointed to the picture
on the package of seeds
on the ground beside her.
And I wondered aloud what
kind of seed I grew from.
She said that we are not from
seeds, and that if we were the
package would have on it a
bouquet of a thousand different
flowers that we could grow up
to be.

And, throughout my childhood
I heard this lie repeated over and
over again.

I like to wear dark colors now.
I like clothes that are
the color of
shadows.

There is a certain
warmth in the
exhaust from a
Metro bus.