Coming Home

I hadn’t been home in ten years.
I’m not sure why.
The steep, crowded streets never called my name.
But walking up them now, I feel alive.
A spark to a fire I’d let die.
The lapping gray water never echoed in my mind.
But tracing its edge, I feel at peace.
A lullaby to a frenzy I’d accepted.
I assumed I was through with the city. 
Now I understand.
Pieces of me were left here, waiting for my return. 

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This poem was written in response to a perfectly timed prompt from Mad Poets Society PA. I went back to my hometown of Seattle over the weekend. When I got back to the place I’ve called home for the last decade, I saw this prompt.

An idea kicked around in my head, but I couldn't find the right heart space to reflect. It had been so long since I'd been back to Seattle proper. All my friends had moved to the suburbs. My parents sold my childhood home by the water. I'd had no real reason to go. How do I unpack all that in a poem? How do I capture the collision of indifference and nostalgia?

Then I saw that

Zack Albertini

responded to the prompt over his lunch and realized that I was overcomplicating it. So, I sat down on my own lunch break today and let this pour out of me. 

Going home is complicated, but writing poetry about it doesn't have to be.

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