A hundred minutes from home and nothing looks like it used to,
but men on the street say the same things. A guilty relief.
I worried my ring would change things: make me less than myself,
more a collared dog escaped from the yard.
//
The brownstones have fresh facades, already summer dusty, wanting
for rain. Here is the corner that was a bodega, then a crime scene,
now a realty office. I suppose I've shifted, too. Three years of sun
and sorrow will mark a soul or a map. It's all the same.
//
The KFC dumpster still spills chicken bones and tattered skin.
Motorcycles parade, trailing bachata blare and car alarms.
A basketball game is picked up and up and up, and I wonder if the new girl
in my old window hates the dribble trickle as much as I did.
//
The gentry seek fresh land with cute cafes, pet-friendly, washers in unit.
Remember the final scene in the laundromat? Quarters rolling on the floor,
spin cycle unstuck with a kick, the attendant turning the dryer up up up
on delicates tumbling low, trying to push me out. It worked.
//
I live in Jersey now. In twelve minutes, I'll be wiping sweat from my lip
in a chilly subway car, crossing rivers, hunting graffiti and resisting ads.
Seek Jesus. Visit Maryland. If you see something, say something.
The problem is this: I look away, and it morphs before me, grinning.
//
Where did the time go? Why am I newly scared of delivery bikes
when they speed the same on both sides of the dotted line between states?
There's history I knew and unknew and also stuff I missed completely.
I was here. I was here. I was here.
About the Creator
Suze Kay
Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.
Catch me here for spooky stories, crushable poems, and overall weird thoughts.
Or, let me catch you on my website!
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Hi mum.
The rain begins to fall lightly against the pavement, as delicately as piano keys are played. Dancing upon the concrete as they hit the ground. Not before long, a crash of thunder bellows through the sky, followed by a flash of lightening that fills the surroundings with the palest blue light. The rain begins to pour heavier and heavier, causing shockwaves of sound through the city streets.
By Billie Whyte4 days ago in Chapters
Comments (11)
This was so beautiful. I liked the line about your ring changing things. I've often had that thought going home too. So well done
A beautiful and nostalgic poem! I love the last line, because when you go home it's not just about the memories, but in some way we wish to be acknowledged that we were a part of the history there, if only in a small way💙Anneliese
Wonderful. I could feel the sentiment and recollections as if I were living them myself. Excellent work!!!
You have no idea when I say how much I resonate with this poem, especially since I'm back home for a while after a while now. The relief of leaving a place behind, laden with guilt is such a strong emotion and you captured it so well. I'm in awe. Thank you for writing this :)
This is true of wherever and whenever on returns home. The places are different, but it fells the same. Really a master[iece.
Reading your poem transported me to the city where I grew up. Every time I go back, I'm torn between happiness and nostalgia. Things have changed and yet, they feel the same. We carry the DNA of the places where we have lived. Thank you for this fantastic read! A masterpiece.
This was so relatable and very nostalgic! I loved it!
This is now tied with Yellow Wood for my favorite poem of yours. What an evocative time bleed.
Lovely poem ❤️ I lived in Bushwick my first 7 years in the city. This made me kinda nostalgic for my early days living here.
This is great
This is awesome. It reminds me of the times I returned to my home town and was overwhelming swamped with feelings I couldn’t put into words. You, however, did a marvellous job of describing a very similar feeling