Came out of California with a knife and a car
And scar across my heart so wide it would take years
Before I could say more than a few words to lovers.
Went on through Ohio and stayed because I had nothing
And decided to be a layabout for a while.
Then table waiting in Kentucky, floor washing in Virginia
And then tomato picking before the farmer
Offered me a job at his stand. He wanted sex, too
And I was so thick by then I let him have his bidding
With my body. Then onto Philly and Boston.
Half way through the fall I decided New England
Winter was too much and ended up in Florida.
I figured you can’t sweat to death, right?
By January I had transformed into my mother
Only thing missing was the truck driver
In the kitchen, the gin, the jerky way of my wrist
From all the speed and coke. The only way out
Of the portal is for me to stop its construction.
I vowed then that to have children was forbidden.
That the only way to save myself from myself
Was death at the end of a long life of loneliness,
That or maybe the church. My mother would cry
With tears at that one. Next winter it’s Seattle
I got some friends out there; they got things going on,
And I like the rain, especially when I’m driving
And the radio reels in those voices and it’s like
They’re speaking only to me. Like someone has reached down
And touched you. That kind of love you can’t beat, no way.
