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Turn It Up.

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

I still write

It had been a while since I'd last written, and then suddenly I ended up writing three poems in one sleepless stretch. This is the first one.


I live in wet country, where it rains without warning,
Where clouds arrive without wind on their tails
And leave without promising sunshine;

I live in war-torn country,
Where anticipation of disaster kills
More than disaster itself --
And more blood is shed in dreams than in reality.

I live in a land that is awake in what it knows
And asleep in what it does;
Certain in what it wants, yet wavering
In who it wants from, or for.

Loyal as I am to all that is familiar,
I return to history that I trust to repeat itself.
I track the whims of weather, scars of conflict, trails of truth.
I become a broken map
Of my imperfect home.


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