"She's come home from the city"
They think and nod their sleepy-town heads.
Between houses with my family,
We hang our hats with my dusty-violet grandma,
Resting our young-kid chaos
Into her lonely, still solitude.
I know this is the place I sprouted,
The place I learned reading, love and distrust,
But I find that my feet can't reach the ground.
They refuse to be planted.
So, here the five of us wait
For the green light
For the great thumbs-up
For the yellow-brick road to light up
And lead us to where we are meant to be.
You can only go forward
To home.
This tells a whole story of a family in transition (and one member in stasis). Enjoyed.
ReplyDeleteI always tell my students that every story is about someone trying to find their way home.
ReplyDeleteI love going back to my slow moving home town... Awsome poem...
ReplyDeleteGreat conceit here, makes me look back at "Wizard of Oz" and think that Dorothy's fantasia of Oz was about trying to recapture a colorful childhood out of such a bleak Depression-era Kansas. But you can't, you have to go forward, you have to make the movie. Or something. Loved this.
ReplyDeleteI know from years of going "back home" that it ceased to be that when I moved out the front door. Nothing brings that to stark reality more than a forced reunion because of circumstances. Love how you ended it. Great write! Thanks for taking part in the challenge!
ReplyDeleteReally well done. I felt this one.
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