May 2019
mom, you raised a girl who is not afraid to die, a girl that still thinks she can climb every mountain, just because you let her climb the fridge, the cabinets and the roof of her house.
you raised a ******* the road
in van traveling up the west coast with a man who longed to be free
to not wear shoes and not be bothered by the wind
brushing the rest of populace's feet
Mom you let your child run free with the dogs. Let her think she, too had four legs and could love someone as unconditionally as they do.
you raised a ******* the road
in van traveling up the west coast with a man who longed to be free
to not wear shoes and not be bothered by the wind
brushing the rest of populace's feet
Mom you let your child run free with the dogs. Let her think she, too had four legs and could love someone as unconditionally as they do.
My dad did not want to settle down in one place. He bought a van and set off around the west coast with my mother and I. I spent the first years of my life on the road. My earliest friends were dogs. I always felt like dogs and their unconditional love was something to really stop and appreciate. This poem comes from the faded remembering of my childhood and the feelings of wonder and the questions “how big is our capacity to love?” “ what is the essence of our capacity to love“
I still think it’s unconditional.
I still think it’s unconditional.
(31/Clovis, CA)
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