Sandpapered Hills
By Alicia Viani
My story lives in the sandpapered hills
where trumpet vines twirl
and memories swirl
from when I was a little girl
The sun low on alfalfa fields
the wind in my hair
an explorer’s dreams
in the shade of hope and green
Well I met that child the other night
when I dragged out my heavy bags
and just like that
saw my past was in black and white
Remember this, remember the trails
the paths we hacked through
the untresspassed fields
all close up color sharp and real
And help me see
point out the time
when I began to aim to please
I turned immune to the wild things
beckoning me
My appetite changed and I no longer craved
to fill the pleasures
and the passions of a girl
and to create what is unmade
Yeah my appetite changed and not for the better
well I want what I’m supposed to
I know curb my pleasures
hell to curbing my pleasures
Help me see
point out the time
when I began to aim to please
I turned immune to the wild things
beckoning me