At Home, In Exile

At Home, In Exile

When I smelt the sea I knew the walk

Would become easier.  I knew beaches

But the waves were new to me.  I knew

Of fire and dry ash falling to water,

Now the rain excites me and dancing above

The crashing thrills me.  The journey’s long.

I have walked ten hills once before taking

Several years to finish.  I began with an

Army running down the slope.  A mass

Of movement I had never known before.

Somewhere along the way a muscle gave out

Leaving me limping lost as the team ran on.

I sat too hurt to move and looked at the stars.

Somewhere patterns are being formed.  Ants are

Building hills and I draw pictures from facts.

I am walking through an unfamiliar corridor and

A payphone rings heavy like the receiver.  My

Mother wants to know if I am being treated well.

I was told I should kill myself today, I say.

I have walked away in the night before not

Scared or turning back but wondering why I can’t.

I’ve seen smoke rise to the sky.  I am asked

Why I do not live closer to home.  I never feel heimet

Unless I am away.  I have walked where I

Have not understood the contents of words and it

Was a bliss of ignorance that did not weigh me down.

Responsibility was removed from the heard language

Allowing me to ascribe holiness to their strange sounds

Filling me with sublime thoughts and blessings

That each night I re-create the fragile dream and

Hold it like a drop of water.  A voice speaks

With distance and I try to keep the vibrations.

I have come to a half-built  wall

Dry in the mid-day sun without the moisture of cement.

I look for stones to fit and fill the gap

Leaving little filling in-between.  Stone by stone

Sure and slow and still.  The time I take

To build this wall is time enough to heal or

Ease at least the tension of my step.  I

Learn the names of the Medics Black, the Tormentils,

The Self-Heal and count the colours of the Marble

White, the Red Admiral and Largest Blue.  The

Corridors became more known.  I still answer the

Telephone and tell my mother I am happy being away from

Home where the sand has no sound, the walkway no pier.

I was told I should kiss myself tonight.

The steps are still steps it’s the landscape that moves me.