Sunday, November 11, 2018

Sunday Poem


Driving home down South Main from grandma’s in a blizzard
Mom clutching the wheel, wordless.
The girls are asleep in the back.
I’m wide eyed, wide awake
watching us hurtle through black outer space
as the star flakes rush past our hyper-driving ship,
wondering what galaxies we leave in our wake.

Heading for mom’s house
And then off to dad’s house.
Mom’s house and then dad’s house
Every other weekend.
Wednesday night dinners
Summers and holidays
Back and forth along the road
This is your home too, they always say
But home is a singularity
Not a multitude of infinite stars
Dispersed across the vastness of space.
I'll never go to Mars
I'll never visit Andromeda

I have always been en route
Traveling from one place to the next.
Going from this home to that.
There’s always been one place I’ve wished to find
But with millions of stars rushing past,
How would I know which one was really mine?
I have been forever seeking a place to rest;
How was a boy supposed to choose which one was best?

Home is always someplace else,
Over there, a place to someday go,
Never quite right here.
Home is a quest,
a thumbtack on a secret map
I had taped behind my desk.
Home is an idea, a wishful destination,
A journey without an arrival.

This is my son in his home;
He knows no other.
I will see him tonight again in this house,
After the last knot is thrown,
and the wounds are all sealed.
Winter now comes round again.
The snow is just snow rapping the windshield.
And stars are just fiery balls of distant hydrogen
Lighting cold worlds I’ll never get to see.

But I am still traveling along the road.
Ever the itinerant wanderer,
Ever searching for a home of my own,
Wondering about worlds I wish I had known.


1 comment:

Oldfoolrn said...

Operating rooms can make for peaceful homes. Get lost in the rhythm of a long case and that tiled temple will soothe your soul