The empty planters on the sidewalk are puddled with rainwater, have wild things growing in them and floating petals. I paint on the floor during the day and actually try to be social at night for a little while. I visit family and my little brother and sister can talk now, the forsythia is blooming and the town is the same one i’ve visited since i was a kid. Go through boxes of my mother’s old things, posters for punk shows, letters written to the hotel in nyc she lived in as a teenager, photos of my parents on road trips and their first apartment in colorado with a view of the mountains. My taxi driver from the airport plays the flute and harmonica as he drives and tells me to go to school.
