Homesick

Homesick

There is a vacuum in me

A black hole 

sucking up all of my insides 

It refuses to let go of its collection of organs

And I am no longer able to operate properly

I am like a drunk man stumbling out of a bar

Who has emptied tall glasses and brown bottles

To fill his stomach

And sterilized the roof of his mouth 

To clean up the mess he made

After spitting out dirty words.

I cannot walk in a straight line

Because if I do,

I don’t think I will ever stop walking.

I will walk until the bottoms of my feet are caked with dirt and covered in calluses.

I will walk along the gravel of winding country roads,

I will walk over the curves of hills,

I will wince when trucks rattle by me as I walk on the sides of highways.

I will walk

Until I reach that familiar left turn,

I will walk

Until I am back home.

Kindergarten Playground Days

The school was constructed on the principle of “alternative teaching.” 

Instead of teaching us the ABC's and times tables, 

they taught us how to bake bread and finger knit.
I can recall sitting in a wooden rocking chair,

that as a five year old I had helped stain with tea and walnut hulls.

I remember rocking back and forth, 

clasping a little wax bird. 

The teacher had taught us how to make them, 

along with other little animals
I remember rocking in our little classroom. 

The floor was covered in cherry-red rugs.

My mother hated those rugs.

when the weather was too bad to go outside for recess,

I would crawl around on all fours on those rugs

pretending to be one of the animals that our teacher had made out of wax. 

Every pair of my pants would be worn through at the knees.

Every set of blue jeans that I wore before my sixth birthday was decorated with colorful patches and pads. 

I wore all the knees through on purpose.

I liked the pants better with all the little colorful patches.
I remember

a sand box, 

a garden full of shiny green beetles,

a red wagon,

a fallen tree. 

A towering wood frame with a twisted steel slide, 

a rope ladder, 

the most gorgeous line of swings.
I remember,

walking down the gravel path with Hannah Banana.

I wished on a puff of dandelion seeds that little Johnny would kiss me under the slide. 

“Wishing is for sissies,” Hannah told me.

She persuaded Johnny to meet us at the sandbox.

He kissed us both there in the dirt. 

One after the other, 

Hannah,

and then me.

Just a small peck on the cheek for each of us.

He kept his eyes open. 

I thought this was alright,

He had very nice eyes.
The best part of the school day was going home,

That was when the best stories were told.

In the car on the way home, 

Hannah’s mother,

who drove me home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, 

would tell us stories. 

Stories about ghosts and aliens, 

flying saucers and singing trees. 

Whenever I’m feeling sad

I remember those days.

The days of innocence and imagination, 

friends and fantasies. 

Simple and good days.

kindergarten playground days.