Two Years in the Life: My Time as Tacoma's Poet Laureate

I've just started this blog today and wanted to post a poem to kick things off!

NOTE FROM MY CONSCIENCE

This is why you have so little to say. Your mother
was a simple stone. Your father a fallen
birch leaf. You were born on the bed of a river
under a pumpkin sun and a hot pink
sky. God owns a cabin close by. You were tucked in
every night with the sand fleas and frogs.
Your forehead is a trap door. Your eyes are teabags
soaking in mugs of steam. When you asked
for your first pair of shoes you were given a handful
of fish bones instead. This is why you have
so little to say. If only your mother were a camel.
If only your father were a hummingbird.
If only God had been a bedtime story and the sheets
you slept in had been clean as cotton. If only
your ankles had been your weakness, if only your
soul had been a sword at your side. Your
mother was a simple stone. Your father a fallen
birch leaf. Who could’ve said whether you’d
be short or tall? You have so little to say!


Thanks for reading! -Abby