GEOFF MILLER
Poetry—'A Mountain on My Shirt'
      

my town snuggles up
to a mountain
a big bruiser with tenderness
washed into its face
it has sat on my shirt flap
since birth
like a paw on a mouse tail
I can run this way, that way
but never away
never away from tightness
drawn down across my chest
squeezing tears
that water my roots
so I can live
with subway chatter
neon splashes on rain
people racing umbrellas
to trains
spirituality chanting in football crowds
garbage trucks compacting yesterday
while my shirt
stretched back decades
pulls me toward home.