Birth by Alicia Wright

you are old enough now
for car rides, so we set out
to chase lightning purpling
the sky above treetops.

 
you are taller than last
I saw you, when you
waved a cap gun at trucks
passing on the highway.

 
you tolerate me telling you so.
you tolerate the garden hose’s
cold water cleaning the summer
mud from your bare feet.

 
in the booth across the syrup-
sticky table, your hair has
gone wild with dog spit
or bubble-gum.

 


Alicia Wright was raised in West Virginia and is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at Bowling Green State University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kenning, Sugared Water, Rufous City Review, and Kestrel.

 

 

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