You Have Geography

You have childhood, like Georgia,

hot and green. Creatures in the grass,

between floorboards, batting at the screen door.

The lush humidity of mothers, fathers.

Stringed legs and bowed wings

chant the short-lived life. The gentle rise

of the Blue Ridge, terraced trails,

cascading water — nothing warns

where you're headed. What you feel as

time passing is just scenery, flickering by.