Imagine that, an America with no hills.
On a walk that, on accident, turns into a hike, Ma says, out of breath, I thought there are no hills
in America. I laugh. Imagine that, an America with no hills. To be in an America with no hills.
To be an American with no hills. To be no hill to America. To hill up America’s hills. To call this
hill America. To be called by this hill, America. There are no hills called America. There are no
Americans in the hills. There is only us. Imagine that, there are no Americas. There are no hills.
But no, there are Americas. Of course there are, Ma. Of course there are hills.
“Michigan” first appeared in a self-published, limited-run print zine; this is the first digital appearance of the poem.