Thursday, August 16, 2012

Where You Are

It is how I fell
in love with a one-room flat
seven thousand miles away
jutting from a mountainside
toes on the dirt path 
to my front door. 

It is how I roamed a fool
through an old city 
where people were strange, 
oh yes, I the stranger.
Letters and words
so big for my little mouth. 

It is how I stuck,
a girl-tipped pin on a map,
foreign droplet 
in curls of ocean
east, west, and south.
Fenced by the enemy
twelve kilometers
to the north.

It is how love lingers
in a contrary little place
old and beaten by history
tramontane bayonets
waiting on shoulders of fear
for some ancient retribution.

It is how a soul stretches
across delicacies and rhyme
along the cracks of dictum
yet the heart is never reaching
for a chest too far to fill.

It is how my feet remember,
when the way gnarls round and back again,
that home is never 
a place you are not,
but is always 
the place where you are.  
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"a : a familiar or usual setting : congenial environment; also :the focus of one's domestic attention <home is where the heart is> b : habitat"
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7 comments:

  1. Very cool. As usual. You have a definite gift for poetry.

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  2. very true, sometimes we carry home with us. well done

    mark

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  3. That gave me a touch of wanderlust; the openness of the world and even its strangeness are so appealing here. Well done.

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  4. This is so true, home is where you make it. I haven't lived in my home town for over 20 years now. I find that when I go back there it doesn't feel like home and I am a stranger.

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  5. I think you are so right. Home is always where you are. You may remember a place as home, but it's not, unless you are part of that place.

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  6. I identify with this feeling. And I adore this passage.
    It is how I stuck,
    a girl-tipped pin on a map,
    foreign droplet
    in curls of ocean
    east, west, and south.
    Thanks for linking up with us again this week. Be sure to come on back tomorrow for the new challenge.

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