Post by sarahmay on Jan 21, 2018 1:27:13 GMT
Thriving In Dallas
Grew up here and still am, riding in the white
truck my gran bought me outright, I am living
ten minutes from my childhood, driving downtown
towards the twelve people I know, they are waving
at me to come meet their parents, their bosses,
their unborn children. My friends are asking
if I want to see their gardens, want to kiss their brothers,
want to model clothes and keep them and I’m singing
yes. Yes to dinners with well-read introverts, yes to
broccoli and bone-broth when ill, yes to sex with the
journalist at Cosmos, yes to the joy that this city brings.
My parents are sending long texts of pride, screen-grabs,
I’m in the paper for my style again. My brother
just got his license for piloting at 20, I’m proud and
kissing him to his girlfriends delight. We are close
and at home, I offer him Adderall for college. He’s
taking some moisturizer with him to try. I am petting
the bulldogs of my neighbor over tacos, holding their
golf-clubs in my spare room as they show their home
to move. I am calling my mom and telling her about
every good date, every eye infection, my clogged sink,
my good grades, a UTI, my exciting news.
In these city lines, I am a full-fledged woman. I outgrew
my mole, my clothes, my pediatrician, my virginity.
I grew into some confidence, a little debt, a career,
a masters, a boyfriend, a breakup, myself.
Grew up here and still am, riding in the white
truck my gran bought me outright, I am living
ten minutes from my childhood, driving downtown
towards the twelve people I know, they are waving
at me to come meet their parents, their bosses,
their unborn children. My friends are asking
if I want to see their gardens, want to kiss their brothers,
want to model clothes and keep them and I’m singing
yes. Yes to dinners with well-read introverts, yes to
broccoli and bone-broth when ill, yes to sex with the
journalist at Cosmos, yes to the joy that this city brings.
My parents are sending long texts of pride, screen-grabs,
I’m in the paper for my style again. My brother
just got his license for piloting at 20, I’m proud and
kissing him to his girlfriends delight. We are close
and at home, I offer him Adderall for college. He’s
taking some moisturizer with him to try. I am petting
the bulldogs of my neighbor over tacos, holding their
golf-clubs in my spare room as they show their home
to move. I am calling my mom and telling her about
every good date, every eye infection, my clogged sink,
my good grades, a UTI, my exciting news.
In these city lines, I am a full-fledged woman. I outgrew
my mole, my clothes, my pediatrician, my virginity.
I grew into some confidence, a little debt, a career,
a masters, a boyfriend, a breakup, myself.
