mild red

When I write about you

I will remember

your blackberries and roses,

your bridges and dog walkers

everywhere.

And everywhere filled with

your green.

Even the tree trunks have a layer,

and I am sure

that, if we dug deep enough,

your roots would proudly be so as well.

You are proud of everything you hold.

Proud of all that diversity

Proud of your high class

--your art and coffee and many activists--

proud of your low class

--your homeless and drugs and aired secrets--

proud of how they combine,

proud, even, of your shame.

But I love you

because you are home;

and you showed me

how to love even contradictory things.