Wednesday, July 16, 2014

In Storage

"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.

6 comments:

  1. This tells a whole story of a family in transition (and one member in stasis). Enjoyed.

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  2. I always tell my students that every story is about someone trying to find their way home.

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  3. I love going back to my slow moving home town... Awsome poem...

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  4. Great 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.

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  5. I 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!

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  6. Really well done. I felt this one.

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