I was born under the big top nighttime sky.
I howled and howled at the moon. I was born
in the age of trickle-down. I spit and peed
and clawed. I was born in tube socks
and a leotard. I danced on chubby stems.
I was born on a bed of autumn leaves.
I was born at a confluence.
I was born on the cusp.
I was born with curls and a crooked
nose in the bed of a pick-up truck.
A spare tire was my crib.
I was born with a mouth full
of river water. I learned to drink deeply.
I was born in a back room. I cried
until the doctors came. They said
I was 5 pounds, 5 ounces.
They said it was Tuesday.
They said my eyes were green and
the leaves caught fire that day.


To read more by Kit Frick, visit the IPLSF Poet’s Blog.