Homeland

written as a meditation on theme of "home" as homework for Casa los Altos poetry group

You say, I run too much

My days are too full,

for you;

but what you don’t know

are my nights; each

lying in bed, as still

as a photograph

of my hometown

in the 1950s.

I wait for you. Here.

Gently. Openly reverent.

For decades, I have not lived

in places where my parents

learned to ride bikes-

 

I could pack up again

and go anywhere, really

nothing is stopping me;

graffiti changes little

from one city

to the next. Except

my own heart grew a taproot

down into you

and you are here, so here

for better or worse, is home now.

 

Even without vows; sickness

and health; richer, poorer.

It all is understated

and understood.

Ever since you looked at me,

your eyes have been

the door to my own home,

and your body,

the only homeland

whose flag I will ever

pledge allegiance to.

 

Author's Note

picture is stock photo image

this poem was translated into English form my original in Spanish

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

Marie, I'm surprised to find no reviews for this poem. This is a remarkable poem. I particularly love the nostalgia in this poem. It's an "old school" type of love that I feel in your words, and presented with such sincerity and humility. Whether homeland is a physical or virtual place, we find love's enduring roots. A true joy to read.

[J]

This resonates so deeply with me at this very moment in time. Every turn of phrase.

It's been a long time since I was here last. Hello.