In my head, there’s a hometown girl
Waiting for me to return from
My adventures out in the world.

She looks at the clouds being flung
Across the sky by the frantic
Night wind, and wonders if they
Will reach my sky tonight.

I dream in clichés handed down
To me like heirlooms of
Unquestionable truth; like keys to
A deeper reality that will always
Shine through the veneer we see.

She is too real to be what I imagine:
She has her own life to live,
Just like I do. And yet, some part
Of me feels her existence, her presence
In the world somewhere, when I look
Out of the window at the living sky
Above a slumbering city.

The idea of a hometown is meaningless
To me: home should be where we are,
Not where we left our memories.

“Home is where the heart is,” yet
My heart is full of holes from the
Shards that litter the pavements
Of the town where I grew up.
Perhaps that is how one can have
A hometown as well as a home.

01/22/2015

Posted on 01/31/2015
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