I Have to Go Back to 1994 and Kill a Girl

It’s no wonder          I’m always tired          with all these tract houses— It’s night & cold on my belly in                                                  the undeveloped field now I have to bury her clothing inside                                                a black garbage bag in plot D police cars roll         past but continue        down the treeless parkway even after shining their lights on                                                  me in my freshman sundress I can only assume they don’t see                                                  the significance of my presence but I must say          1994 is a simpler         time—not everyone is suspect I crawl up next to my old house                                                   & look through a lit window my mother reads a book in bed            I want to knock           on the glass, there’s something I need to tell her