Birthmark
In California, even the worst
of us is forgiven: flooding roads
lead to freeway superbloom, birds
make nests out of all our trash.
And despite drought, jacarandas
spike purple in July, their roots
cracking the concrete. Once, I
tripped under one, tore the skin
off my knees. And at last removed
the leftover scars of childhood.
My father fell once outside
the dirtiest apartment I lived
in that overlooked the freeway
on a street where no one walked.
