broken street.

One time I ran away

got to the end of the broken street

(they've paved over since

now it's smooth, dark, neat)

then it was all cracks and gutter rivers.

I dodged each one, flying

free, and the whole time

barefoot, that whole minute

sprinting away. I was gone--

I was somebody.

I had a name I gave myself

not the one you gave to me

and I could sing, anytime

and you couldn't stop me.

and the moon danced for me,

sighing, 'oh, honey,'

'run while the night is still young.'

Hair streaming, in an undershirt and jeans

unpresentable--what would the neighbors think?

Feet burning, wheeling around corners

until running further

would have really changed things.

I walked back, the whole way

and sat on the porch

and cried,

and held the cold bruises

on the soles of me,

and the moon sighed with me.