Someday I'll Be 21 in Boulder, Colorado

When I grew up,
I knew what people meant when
they said the sun bloomed hotter
in the mountains. When I grew up,
the air slid between my teeth
in a new way, that dry Colorado wind
scorched by the sun. In Colorado, there's a greater
chance of skin cancer
because the atmosphere is a little thinner, because
in a little way, you're closer to 
the vastness, by which we mean
a little closer to God. 

 

I'm not from Colorado. When I grew up,
I knew its foothills 
and its green summer grass
moving like an ocean below me. When I grew up,
I moved to the mountains
and left the plains with all their wet wheat
and dust storms, and took up the banner
of a mountain state in the hope
it would make me love me better. 

 

When I grew up, you kissed me
on a hiking trail,
and the little diamond
you keep around your neck caught the sun
as you pulled away. When I grew up,
I knew you better. 
But I won't know you now. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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