on hilltops, me bigger now,
confused, but still following her little feet
whispering through daffodils.
We crawl to the edge of the earth.
I do it now–
crawl. Push my awkward body
stupidly beneath picnic benches,
through sticky firs,
trek circles around war monuments,
knees shunting through the grass.
I drop to catch my breath,
hot and ashamed, the green rasp
against my palms I call back,
call and call
beneath a cry of creamy gulls,
a woman now, silky-thighed
with poppies inked on her ankles,
searching for home.