look at me, Mom,
I’m living your dream
right where you wanted to be
after you and dad
plucked us all up like flowers
and everything went to shit.
I came home, back where we
belonged all along,
where the woods meet
the ocean and the winters
are real, where the roads
and farms are named after kin.
if the graves of Hills
have eyes, you see.
I hope you’re happy now
watching me live out
your dream, living through
my breath from wherever
you are, whether it be
the stoney ground of Maine
or the paradise of the everafter.
Look at me, Mom,
I’m living out your dream.
