NaPoWriMo: Poem 22 - The Journey Home
As part of National Poetry Writing Month, I will be writing 30 poems in 30 days. I will try to write one each day, but if I miss a day or two, I will catch up on later days. Sometimes I will be following prompts; while other days will come from my own ideas.
This is the last poem written while I was away, but I've been sick this week and not doing great with keeping up. I think I can still do this, if I write three poems each day for the rest of the month.
The Journey Home
Leaving the country estate, overgrown
with trees and history, we cross a small
county highway into a spread-out
development as nondescript as
America. These buildings could come from
anywhere, down to the plastic
mailboxes. The houses, different
combinations of bricks, stone
and siding, variations
on a theme. And then,
a narrow asphalt road --
no lines -- beside a fallow field. Reminds me
of my Central Pennsylvania.
Then, the long, flat stretch
between sodden fields
strikes me both familiar and strange:
My eyes accustomed to blue in the distance,
to gentle, old mountains, rough edges
smoothed off. Perhaps my son
feels it, too. Perhaps that is why,
each time we get in the car,
he asks if we're going home. Somehow,
he knows these fields are not
ours. For him, these wide-open prairies
feel foreign. And yet, he is
adventurous; revels in new sights
and sounds. Distractions for his heart's
longing. It might be different
if my husband had joined us. Perhaps,
with both of us at his side, home
could roam. The radio plays
an acoustic version of "Never
Tear Us Part" -- the song weaves this place
musically into memory. I want to take you
wondering, my son. We will explore
this world. We will find
fantastic things to see,
listen to and taste. I want your eyes
to light up with awe at the
wonder of the new.
- April 21, 2013
Like this poem? Donate any amount and receive a special limited-edition ebook, available as a PDF in May, titled "Now with Kung-Fu Action Grip." It will include poetry, essays and humor pieces about pregnancy, parenting and my creative, determined toddler, nicknamed Kung Fu Panda, including writings about our recent trip to Illinois, where he was the ringbearer in a wedding.
To donate by check or money order, please make it payable to "Alyce Wilson," include a note giving your e-mail address, and mail it to:
Alyce Wilson
P.O. Box 39706
Philadelphia, PA
19106-9706
You can donate via Paypal (using a credit card if you prefer) using the button below.
This is the last poem written while I was away, but I've been sick this week and not doing great with keeping up. I think I can still do this, if I write three poems each day for the rest of the month.
The Journey Home
Leaving the country estate, overgrown
with trees and history, we cross a small
county highway into a spread-out
development as nondescript as
America. These buildings could come from
anywhere, down to the plastic
mailboxes. The houses, different
combinations of bricks, stone
and siding, variations
on a theme. And then,
a narrow asphalt road --
no lines -- beside a fallow field. Reminds me
of my Central Pennsylvania.
Then, the long, flat stretch
between sodden fields
strikes me both familiar and strange:
My eyes accustomed to blue in the distance,
to gentle, old mountains, rough edges
smoothed off. Perhaps my son
feels it, too. Perhaps that is why,
each time we get in the car,
he asks if we're going home. Somehow,
he knows these fields are not
ours. For him, these wide-open prairies
feel foreign. And yet, he is
adventurous; revels in new sights
and sounds. Distractions for his heart's
longing. It might be different
if my husband had joined us. Perhaps,
with both of us at his side, home
could roam. The radio plays
an acoustic version of "Never
Tear Us Part" -- the song weaves this place
musically into memory. I want to take you
wondering, my son. We will explore
this world. We will find
fantastic things to see,
listen to and taste. I want your eyes
to light up with awe at the
wonder of the new.
- April 21, 2013
Like this poem? Donate any amount and receive a special limited-edition ebook, available as a PDF in May, titled "Now with Kung-Fu Action Grip." It will include poetry, essays and humor pieces about pregnancy, parenting and my creative, determined toddler, nicknamed Kung Fu Panda, including writings about our recent trip to Illinois, where he was the ringbearer in a wedding.
To donate by check or money order, please make it payable to "Alyce Wilson," include a note giving your e-mail address, and mail it to:
Alyce Wilson
P.O. Box 39706
Philadelphia, PA
19106-9706
You can donate via Paypal (using a credit card if you prefer) using the button below.