Let’s Call It Home

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LET’S CALL IT HOME


It begins by getting up and leaving

the evening’s habitual affairs, scraping

back your chair from the kitchen table

and your plate into the garbage pale, 

packing only cupped palms and an empty 

Mason jar to chase the lightning 

bug that flashed across the field. 


What you’ve begun is at last the beginning, 

when looking up you discover yourself

tangled in a thatch of blackberry bushes

enclosing you in a wild, overgrown 

embrace, skin traced by the thorns. 


From this ridge you can see the dim 

illumination you once called home. 


From here you can look back over

the field—still holding the empty Mason jar—

to see how far this faithful, 

inconclusive following has led you

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