Famys

My father was San Francisco and my mother, the Pacific; at five I was in love with nine-lane highways, the scent of eucalyptus pressed between my fingers, yellow parchment hills crumpled up under the eye of the sun. If I had a sunset to myself I would curl up on a park bench like the hippies do, and eavesdrop on the sea lions’ bedtime conversations. Alcatraz never quite unbarred me and yet I have found freedom in hills steep as my shoulders; I know that I am beautiful even in the rain because I have kissed the smoke of Berkeley and tasted her on my teeth. I was born to dangle my legs over Golden Gate Bridge and of course, of

My father was San Francisco and my mother, the Pacific; at five I was in love with nine-lane highways, the scent of eucalyptus pressed between my fingers, yellow parchment hills crumpled up under the eye of the sun. If I had a sunset to myself I would curl up on a park bench like the hippies do, and eavesdrop on the sea lions’ bedtime conversations. Alcatraz never quite unbarred me and yet I have found freedom in hills steep as my shoulders; I know that I am beautiful even in the rain because I have kissed the smoke of Berkeley and tasted her on my teeth. I was born to dangle my legs over Golden Gate Bridge and of course, of