I want to live on land with the same scars as me
run my fingers along sunken ravines,
know the bumps and lines of topography,
even alone in the dark
I want to live on land that grows wild like me
watershed tears, hidden marshes, creeks that overflow
protected thickets holding back light
I want to live on land with secrets like mine
abandoned parts, stories untold
places you dare not step
old home places spilling jewels in spring:
forgotten front porch ivy,
daffodils and irises and daylilies
burning quiet in the woods
crumbling chimneys, open wells
invisible and dangerous as dragons
Where I live is a street with the same same same
no questions, the ghosts in my yard don’t speak
we are spirits locked away, bound by traffic,
composed,
by not enough
too much space
Words and photo © Jaime Greenberg, 2022
