By Rose Aiello Morales
in the beginning, there was suburbia
and every house was the same.
I was born, the placenta of ticky tacky,
with Pete singing of the boxes,
pastel past the point of home ownership,
yards with swing sets and trampled dirt yards,
Mothers saw their kids at meals
or when the streetlamps glowed.
We were up mobile, and we moved,
we moved, and then we moved again,
a series of the planned and unplanned,
cul de sacs and grid-locked towns,
they tried to fit me into squares,
into their boxes, pounded into round holes,
hammered into prison desks
and I escaped (did not escape)
painting over scenery
the happy little trees changed shape,
associated powerless who now had power
closed the lid, and there I was
alive and dead and searching a philosophy
where someone told me how to think and refusal
has made all the difference.
Rose Aiello Morales is a poet currently living in Marietta, GA. She is a contributing poet for Mad Swirl Magazine and her work has been featured in Red Fez Magazine and ink, Sweat and Tears. She lives with her husband Alex and their three cats.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s