Home

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,
but maybe its about time: time to consider
what you have; time to see what you do
in the light of day; time to grow into
yourself, the one you always were but could
never find when surrounded by everything you ever needed.

The funny thing about absence and time
is how they work together. I grow fonder and
farther from those I love: fonder in ways I never knew,
farther in ways I never understood.
Leaving home taught me the hardest lesson I ever learned:
How much I treasure Mamma’s listening ears when I have a rough day;
how much I crave the voice of my Baba on days I feel far;
how much I value the wisdom of my sisters;
how much they will always be Home.

When I Grow Up

When I grow up, I’m going to be the first.
It has to be done one day, and I’m the only one
brave enough to do it. Some may want to invent
flying cars or discover life on Mars, but I
want to do something much more practical.
I’ve studied and practiced; I know it’s possible
to do the impossible; it has to be.
I’m sure the first person to charm a snake was
shunned and teased; the first lion tamer
must have almost lost his life a few times, and,
to be sure, the first person to domesticate a dog
almost gave up, but they all succeeded in the end.
Yes, I shall be the first and I will change the world.
Who’s to say a shark cannot be tamed?

Bird of the Bayou

I went home the other day,
walked paths full of memories,
relived in my mind the many nature walks
down this boardwalk: the ripple of the creek,
the wind in oaks, cypress, pine, and vines,
birdsong and squirrel-chatter, the buzzing of dragonflies and bees.
Building in the distance, a rumble of unnatural thunder
slowly makes its way towards me. My eyes dart upwards instantly
towards the clear blue sky eternities above me, searching for the
cause of this beautiful disruption. Before I can see it, I
feel the thunder in my chest reverberating against my ribs,
quickening my heart to keep up with the excitement inside.
Every muscle, bone, and cavity rattles, pushed by the
waves of thunderous sound.
And there, just above the trees I see it, the man-made
bird with his song of thunderous protection,
the bird I missed the most: the bird of the Bayou.

Seaside

I’ve packed my things in a hurry as I
run out the door stuffing items in a bag
mentally running over the list: a towel,
a book, a water bottle, sunscreen (SPF 50),
a change of clothes for the ride home.
Flip flops in hand, jumping on toes, I narrowly
avoid the stickers in the grass. 

The asphalt parking lot burns my bare feet
and the salty wind whips hair into my eyes
as the water bottle drops from my hands.
With a dash to the board walk,
I scamper down the stairs, and sink
as my still bare feet land in the
burning white sand, soft as new snow.

The sand squeaks beneath my feet
and sand flies into my eyes,
squinting as I try to
look at the emerald blue water
with its rolling waves and white foamy crests
and green June Grass floating around
which usually harbor the sting of the jellyfish.

The waves lap my toes and splash my knees with
biting salty water, burning scratches and cuts.
Quickly at first, I move in, until the waves start to
splatter my sensitive stomach, making me
gasp and squeal, tensing. I know the quick
plunge is safest: I inhale, bend my knees, and
submerge my shoulders beneath the icy waves,
held fast in the embrace of the ocean.