- 20 -

Trailer Trash: Track One
Kaylee Kriese

I was ripened in the freckle
constellations of my mother’s 

       shoulders.
Rusted nails that had buried 
themselves in my father’s

       feet.
Dollar menu days when 
happy meals couldn’t be

       afforded.
Gravel roads writhing with
scraped knees & spinning bicycle 

       tires.
Fearless mud pie makers, 
with perpetually dirty 

       fingernails.
Cheeks ballooning with
air, poised for birthday

       wishes.
My brother and I, grounded,
kicking the screen free,
shimmying out the

       window. 
Mosquito scarred, dreamcicle-
stached, my blonde-streaked
tresses choking with

       smoke.
A twisted expression
when “I hate you,” 
was something I thought I

       meant. 
Lake mucked in knee-high
grasses, breathless with

       yearning.
Small hands, mirroring my
mother’s, as she pieced me 



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back together when I
       sobbed.

Pocketing my heart from 
where I’d cupped it in my  

       hands.
I was ripened in the heart-ache
of tomorrow, the arthritic a-frames
of houses heavy with 

       hope.
These tender freedoms, 
ephemeral, these things I choose to 

       remember.