To The Stump In my Garden

Day 7- Take a walk until you find a
tree you identify with, then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor
for yourself or your life.

To the stump in my garden that has begun to sprout

Mere days after its branches have been shorn:
Teach me whatever lessons you have learned

How to give thanks for your still solid roots

And how to recalibrate the hardened fibres of your bark

And make life once more.

Back Home

(Lyrics from Back Home by Andre Tanker)

 

i went away / i leave an i come back
home / i come back to stay / i must see meh way

It feels as though every time I leave, it takes
longer to come back.

first six months, then nine, now ten–

as if they have been grooming me to leave
forever.

I ask myself how people could leave for years
and years and never look back?


not even once?

But the truth is, it gets easier.

What is one year more when you’ve been gone for
five?

or ten?


or twenty?

i went away / i leave an i come back
home / i come back to stay / i must see meh way

 Each time I fear that she
will not take me back.

I think anyone who has ever left home for length of time can tell
you about that fear

that you have changed too much to go back to the place

that you cannot call it home without a sour taste in your mouth.

You don’t live somewhere without it changing you and can’t come back
without those changes

Whether is a yankee accent, or an expectation of something better.

i went away /
looking for another home / tried to run away / run way from my destiny /

Yuh see, we is d people who does come back sayin ting like
“Well back in Canada…”

in another world /
a world that was strange to me / tried to change myself / change my identity

But what we doesn’t tell yuh is how we don’t fit there either

Because whatever Canada or New York or England or other northern
promised land we have created

Despite the efficiency of public transit or the cheapness of “food”

We know that we will never really be more than our hyphenations

Than our exotic accents

Than our otherness.

Calling there home gives you that sour taste too.

You can’t live somewhere without it shaping you, and you can’t leave
without taking whatever idea of home you had with you.

i went away / i leave an i come back
home / i come back to stay / i must see meh way

Moonshine

Moonlight pours through my
window and reminds me that
while the days are too dark
the nights can still be bright.

Salt

I dreamt of salt
and woke with my mouth watering.
I dreamt of salt
and awoke in a blanket of sweat
and the scent of the sea
clogging my nostrils.
I dreamt of salt
and woke up bitter.

Letting The Sunshine In


Their makeshift curtains are visible from the path
And my windows are stark in comparison
Too high to show into my soul
Where my bare windows make more sense:
That heat pooling in at 4 in the afternoon
Falls directly on my sorrows
And is the only thing that reminds me of home.