Poems

XI. Home

“If you love Mississippi, then it’ll always touch your heart, because everything is complicated.”
—Willie Morris

I am not from Mississippi, in fact
I’ve never been to Mississippi
But in spelling it a hundred times maybe
I learned what home means.

Or maybe it was the act of returning
To the place that raised me up like
Cornfields, of finally finding your eyes
Grow blue with revelation
When you had learned to love.

Before you got brave
To risk giving and giving
You were never thankful.
New Jersey summers grew up plump
Between your toes but you never felt it.

Then you grew your hair long.
It tumbled like leaves and you saw colors
Everywhere when you discovered
We are all the same on our insides.

It is complicated, yes, and you’ll freeze
Cold again, from time to time,
But home will be home,
these rivers and valleys.