April 5, 2007

• Poetry Thursday

  Coming Home

  My car beeps hello,
  Bag in the back,
  Keys and wallet with me.
  I drive the same way,
  Everyday.

  Up one hill,
  Elation rises with the car,
  One more night over,
  Everyone's alive.
  Down one hill,
  Did I make the right call?
  Did I forget anything?
  Breathe.
  Someone else's hands are on the baton.

  Up two hill,
  Sun in my eyes,
  The city spreads before me,
  The bay blinks back.

  Down two hill,
  Past the falling cherry blossoms,
  Past the rainbow flags,
  Through the valley of a friend lost.
  Past the bars and cafes,
  Past the blue and yellow flags,
  The Castro has a special meaning to many,
  And a specific meaning to me.

  From her last name,
  To her middle,
  Across the back of Dolores Park,
  Right on Dolores Street.
  Palm trees up hill three,
  And Palm trees all the way back down.
  I can't go back and change things.
  What's done is done.
  Someone else's hands are on the baton.

  Still, I come home the same way,
  Everyday.

  • 12:16 pm
  • 3 Comments