I thirst for rushing wind and hazy skylines

like diamonds.

there’s an addictive brilliance in the stars

of a foreign sky. 

I lose everything to follow their shine,

drunk on happy lonesomeness,

missing Christmas in exchange for diamond


but you are the Queen of Hearts.

not even open fields can cloud my memories 

of rainy apartment days,

starlings and tree parks and green streams,

crying on the deck in your lap,

in the car with Chips Ahoy and Van Morrison tapes,

to the day you told me I was too old for

books before bed.

our orange and apricot trees and your jams and

lemon pie, blueberry birthday pie and

banana milkshakes for my wisdom teeth.

tv nights with popcorn and christmas mornings

with scones,

Julys of fireworks and neighbors

and Starbucks on mondays 

where we could complain, and laugh, and be similar.

maybe nostalgia isn’t a reason to return,

and I have been hardened, yet weakened,

by my liberty. 

but you are the question and answer 

etched into my mind,

like any daughter’s, 

so wait at the gate for me,

         I’ll be home soon.


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