Home in it (a found poem)

Home would feel like home, though

I have no home

wherever it was

I am homeless. This is my condition

if there was a you and me in it.

Secret

I think about it sometimes
when I am driving.

I think about crashing
in reverse.      The smell of metal
scraping against a concrete wall
in a basement parking lot.

I think about the lie I told my parents:
And the other lie I never told them.

I think about truth
when I am driving       and what
might have happened to the secret
had I kept it.

Announcing a new column on District Lit

I’m giddy with excitement to let you know my first feature column went up on District Lit yesterday. “My Time, Your Place” is an ongoing exploration of the boundaries between reality and dream, time and timelessness, place and wandering. (The title is borrowed in part from the Yehuda Amichai poem, “In My Time, In Your Place.”)

I hope you check it out from time to time, and share with your friends if the writing moves you to do so.

As a tribute to Amichai, whose poetry inspires me in so many ways, here is the poem the title references.

In my time in your place

One true thing

A thing

grew inside me once.

This was during a time I can’t return to.

Not that I want to return

except on days I do want to

in order to observe the thing growing

with a wholeness I grew inside me in the time

since.