Return
Cradle to grave in a single space, a river town
spent and refilling. Soft imprints in graveyard grass,
my child-sized feet walking history, bluff city
cemetery. A whole life, but not many years,
belong to you. Not a passing through visit, a sudden
stop of breath along the bike path, a quick grave.
No. You are home.
I left for bigger things, cities and careers I thought
you could not hold. My heart’s longing for beauty
a decisive blow to you, mountain-less, sea-less, cement
town. I carried only the memory of a dirty river.
For seasons in different places, no thought of returning
to the tower’s shadow on an empty drive.
Yes. You came back.
Lesson learned: we all change in both directions and hope
more good than bad. Familiar sights: a pavilion surrounded
by willows and water, a muddy creek and wooden bridge, a store
where we stopped for Little Debbies on our way to school. Delightful
news: a taller library with fireplace and views. Trains sound
my nighttime song of youth and I pat my son’s head and think.
Now. You are home. 
