California Dreaming - Poem by Lori Boulard
Locking eyes with the nomadic sun
I long to be native again.
Santa Ana winds blowing fire through the palms
bringing blue back to sky east of the ocean.
Flat out loitering until the lights come on
skateboarding home, ice cream in hand.
Four bands, one warehouse,
three dollars, general admission.
My childhood lies buried beneath the city of Progress
dormant, in a development seed.
One million years from today,
settled in fragments of seasalt and dust,
pointing newborn fingers at the sun,
I will be there.
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