"I'm a young cowboy and know I've done wrong,"
My father sang as I emerged from the river

"She likes wearing men's clothes, let her wear them,"
Said my mother, tying his denim shirt around my neck

Under the surface of the water
Rocks glimmered like small hearts
Here's the mountain where we stood in order of height
Stars flashing across our faces

What my father could not give my mother, she gave herself
I wanted to be like that; like the lawnmower
Commanding respect, a steady echo
Instead I was more like the grass, in love with being severed
And later, with finding those parts of myself that had been buried
Thin blades only the fresh spring rain had the power to recover