“Colic @ 23”

This is what I remember:
I remember gasoline, 
The smell of it seeping through my nasal cavity
Drip
Drip
Drip
Down the back of my throat
Landing on the tip of my tongue,
Like a lyric I know but can’t find.
I remember stale, warm leather .
Interior of a 93 honda.
Crusty sweat and milk-stained,
Older than me by just months,
Chariot of birth and then,
suddenly,
death.
Welcome, little one:
This is home, this is home.
I believe mantras and accept truths without question,
But the pit of me churns, stubborn and wild.

I remember the ocean like I was born into it
A salt-wet embrace my first swaddle.
Faint hum, eyes pealed and I’m there,
Clothes basket canoe on high tide.
Child, but not
Human, but less
Woman, but more.
Where are you from?
(who’s your faaah-ther?)
My answer always the same:
**** ******
An existence not lived, just known.
I am born of coal mines and seaweed
Wrapped in the angry belly of a sea that knows not forgiveness,
Only history.
Her-story.
My-story.

But,
That’s not right.
I’m here. And I’ve been here forever.
Summers amount to small scales
Irregular and passing
This is what I remember:
That gasoline.
That Honda.
Lawnmowers and penny candy.
Moy avenue
Mulberries
Stolen scooters and alleyway parades
Garage parties
Pot-smoking
Roads, sidewalks,
Gum on the sidewalks.
Sidewalks leading to places I can buy more gum,
To leave on more sidewalks.
Chrysler
Ford
Gaping mouths of smoking factories
Dandelions
Creeping Charlie
Nature fighting back
We shall not, we shall not be moved.
Pluck
Pull
Fight to survive.

I was born in the armpit of a nation
Not the belly of a beast.
Far from the careless spray of the coast
Carried southwest by storks
And plopped into existence
Gasping for air as my gills sealed themselves shut
Shhhhh
Shhhhh
Welcome, little one:
This is home.