It's no wonder I'm always tired with all these tract houses—
It's night & cold
on my belly in the undeveloped field now
I have to bury her
clothing inside a black garbage bag in plot D
police cars roll past but continue down the treeless parkway
even after shining
their lights on me in my freshman sundress
I can only assume
they don't see the significance of my presence
but I must say 1994 is a simpler time—not everyone is suspect
I crawl up next to
my old house & look through a lit window
my mother reads
a book in bed I want to knock on the glass, there's something
I need to tell her