Tags

, ,

*

P-Town

*
At twenty-two, I had this urge to roam,
something called to me in a foreign tongue,
so I drove to this city I hoped to call home.
*
I left behind everything I called my own.
Friends, families, jobs: all undone
when I heeded that urgent call to roam.
*
Three thousand miles, the throw of a stone —
it was the only way I could feel far enough flung
when I needed to quit that place I’d called home.
*
Now I love this city like I love my own bones,
but it doesn’t hold me when I’ve been world-stung.
It’s hard not to heed that urge to roam,
*
but the things I’m afraid of won’t leave me alone.
I must lose that belief to which I’ve clung,
that another town might feel more like home.
*
I’ve found writing — story, essay and poem —
keeps me still when my instinct’s to run,
so I face that persistent call to roam
by writing and writing in the skin I call home.
*

*

*

About This Poem: Is. It. Over. Yet? Gah! Poetry. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. This is officially the last villanelle of the week though. Maybe the last villanelle of my life. I’m not sure how many villanelles a person has inside them. I’m pretty sure I’m very over quota.

About Poem-A-Day: For the month of April (National Poetry Month), I’ve signed on to write a poem-a-day (eeks!). To make it slightly easier on myself, my rules are that I have to write each poem in fifteen minutes or less, and that I have to post it here on the blog as soon as I’m done. No edits. Just rough. Raw. Right out of the gate. (Of course, if you’re playing along, I hope you’ll post a link to your poem in the comments here — mainly because I’m selfish and I want to read them!)

See all my Poem-A-Day poems here.

You can also read some amazing poems-a-day over at Sage Cohen’s blog.

*

Advertisements