Journey Longing Home

Fleeing in the middle of the night, 
  who are we trying to be,
a band of coyotes?
     but fearfully running to
     the nearest place that would 
take us, accept us.
It’s not that they wouldn’t accept us. 
  If we suggested to stay,
it only determined how much
     she was willing to sacrifice . . .
All in the name of me. all. for. me. 
  (question myself; me?)
Did you make us leave because his truth 
  was so erratic, striping— it tore off
  this fake enamel you plastered
  over your exposed steel bars— those bars,
                                    a cage. 
But a cage not occupied by greeting
     mourning doves,
     the confinds of the cage hold gentle, messily 
     dismembered bodies holding feathers; left with one 
     life in an eye.
     Scab and scab again. Trying to
     heal but struck again before
     your cells, your soldiers could gain their strength, 
     build themselves back up
        again.
     To knowingly be prepared 
     for the next hardship,
        likely the same hand
                     again.
Yet that hand 
hasn’t been a hand in 
vastly 25 years,

He’s dead. 

     you’re safe,

               go home.

where is 
  your home.

Where is MY home?

Did you take mine, 
because they took yours ?
  well, I’ve changed the key.

You can walk yourself home, 
maybe to another’s (to borrow)

Because you will not 
assume control over 
  my body my home.
You can live through and fight 
  your own problems.

I was born from an opening
where a river spilled from, a person.

You’ve taken me far beyond the river, 
I’ve built a boat with what I have left,
            and I’ll paddle until I see where the
          sky and the sea kiss and bear the teeth of land and trees.

Smiling back at me.
to give me the gift of a welcome to home.