I
I am suffocating.
The stairwell is heated
by dozens of bodies,
climbing up,
like salmon,
searching for the light.
I emerge from the underworld,
sucking stale air
into my lungs.
Beads of salt water scatter
and evaporate,
while others form rivulets
from hairline to chin.
I have traveled miles
to be among my people.
I scan the streets
to find my place
in the taxonomy:
Kingdom.
Phylum.
Class.
Order.
Family.
But there is only nothingness and chaos.
I walk many miles before I surrender.
I have strayed.
II
My limbs ache
as I climb slowly uphill.
It is only another quarter-mile,
or perhaps a half,
to the patch of grass
where an old dog waits
beside the porch steps.
Her limbs ache from sitting still.
She barks once.
It is a greeting,
I think,
or a warning to the pack.
I have arrived.
I lean against the old dog,
listening to the beating of her heart
and the rustling of leaves,
until sleep overtakes me.
I dream the stars are angels
creating order in the universe.
I hear them singing:
Kingdom.
Phylum.
Class.
Order.
Family.
I have returned.
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Thank you Pamela, for these lovely verses of wondering from, and returning home. Kinisthetic and evocative.
Scott Lutz
Thank you, Scott, for your kind words. I have been thinking about home a lot (after many months of extensive travel) and have written some prose (which I will probably publish on my blog), but this was my first attempt at poetry in ages. I pushed myself from my comfort zone, so I am especially grateful for your positive feedback!
I didn’t understand this. Which means that it is probably fantastic! You write in such a achingly-real fashion.
Rebecca, you crack me up! My 14 year old daughter said the same thing you did, and my 10 year old son discussed the literary devices and biblical allusions with me. With poetry, if it evokes an emotional response then you understood it.