Way Past Springfield

Treetops freckled the surrounding mountains

from the months of March through October.

The summer brought an art gallery of plants.

This part of Oregon is beautiful year-round.

My Ipod played "At the Bottom" by Brand New-

this sixteen year-old's favorite band

during a mentally unstable time.

None of that stuff mattered at this place,

where the wind could blow without hitting anything

and the river washed away every thought.

Once the power went out and I walked

  two miles in the middle of the night

  and was more afraid of cougars than serial killers.

Nothing bad could ever happen there-

I was never hurt or traumatized or ignored

and my grandparents showed they loved me.

I wish they could be the only memories in my head.

This poem is about: 


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