Childhood Homeland
What was once
Pebbles and dust, that litters around
For a crunchy taste when passing along,
Only to wait before a legion of train
That melts a box of anguish and joy,
Which waters my eyes
For the moist that lures a yearning of a lifetime.
What was once
Strong and proud branches, or so I do see,
Nourished by time with hailstorms and sand,
But not to understand
Page by page, or films through light,
Lurking in shades for a while to rest,
A child now grown is still as young.
What was once
Shelf by shelf as maze and wall,
With flips and yawns, or sitting along,
When lines and curves undisturbed
That draws a picture on a screen now old,
A flashing twist but still and mute
That tames a heart of run and play.
What was once
For gas and pump, then closed and dawned,
Decorating a time of tractors and barns,
Spreading beside, of white and red alike,
Farm as wide, but becoming construction sites,
With bricks and mortars I now testify,
A native returns for warmth and comfort.
For Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Written and finished in Chicago
2006/7/17
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Let not a drop of desire
Disturb the heart in ripples
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