A Day at Sand Point
I was born with a red traffic light
set outside the hospital window.
Ambling the crosswalk
was a lanky high-runger with curly hair,
his mustache itching from an unknown cause.
A small brigade of crows
had latched on to electric wires,
where the frigid morning wind tossed
their unassuming, straw-like limbs.
I had no time to be in blankets.
From another life, a hole had been blown
in my heart - the doctor's requested that I stay
with their knife and operation lights
until I forgot the hand of my mother.