you don’t really know

how much you’ve changed

until you go back to a place

you once called home

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home:

what if your home is the grey space between the underpasses and highways,
where the weeds grow and the old tires tire,
where the people pass in buses and cars on their way to attend to the-most-important-business

?

“Oh, I miss it.”
“What do you miss about it?”
“Everything, really…
I don’t know, maybe it’s different when it’s
home.”

Tribe

I had hoped for a slow unraveling

but sometimes things and strings

get caught –

and there is no more slow,

only unraveling.

But we continue to knit and reknit,

to find the piece that fits.

Not all clothes were made for us,

these imperfect people, non-manufactured.

Sometimes a tribe will find you,

Sometimes you will have to go searching.

Sometimes, both.