Away from Here

Once you return from urban anonymity

that weightless, faceless flight

strip the bed, wash its clothes

push the broom across the floor

feed two weeks of dust to woods outside your door

empty a suitcase into your little rooms

grateful your body still can move to perform

such small chores and you have joyful work to do

here, at home, in a minute mountain town

where trios of children yell hello and wave as you drive by

and high school girls nod and smile, call you

by your given name as you walk the dairy aisle

and the cashier offers updates on her son

the quiet, dark hearted one you took under your wing

brilliant artist, shy guitarist, budding engineer

now a man who, like younger you, and like you promised

when both your hearts were sinking in that school

found himself, found his people, found his will to be

wild haired, heartily embodied, away from here.

For L.M.