Why did I keep it, and why did I let it go?
Through how many years and cities did I carry the book?
Gazing with anticipation at the pictures
but never quite finding the expected thing
and always believing it was there
if I looked one more time
if I turned one page I'd somehow never turned
and would I know it when I saw it?
To you, the circle may appear complete:
I've returned to my Home Town.
But a single place on earth is home
to those whose walk is solid,
weighted by long roots.
I do feel the pull, and always hear the call,
but packing for this non-return
I either gave up on ever finding the page
or realized all at once
it was elsewhere, closer at hand
than a book on a shelf
in a shop that spoke
to a girl
whose sharp intake of breath
each time she saw the word, Utopia,
on its spine, defined
the nature of her choices
from then, on.
|
|
|
|
rate
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 1
..
U