Because they were cowards to the New York cold,
where raggedy excuses for trees reached out their spindly  branches,
sharing the same skinny neck and sharp elbows as my mother.
While snow sprinkled the drab cement, harbingers of more cold to come,
My parents retreated as far south as they could.
Don't get me wrong.
New York is a place of inspiration, blinding lights and lovely nights.
Though we're in the warm haven of Houston,
where summer is an oven and winter brings gentle breezes,
although the trees here stand broad, confident, and forever green,
My parents will never forget the frigid, bitter chills of New York.