Submitted by Hannah D. on Wed, 03/29/2017 - 16:24

I grew up a nomad, wondering as I went,
With backpack over shoulder and shoes well spent.
I've seen Mesopotamian graveyards where dust fell from the Ishango Bone,
And trudged Mediterranean shores where Nap found the Rosetta Stone.

There's nothing like old Stonehenge at the midwinter heirophany,
Or late noons at Giza, shadows long like Modiglianis.
The snowflakes carved in Moscow are each a precious little fractal.
Who's tasted cacao where Aztecs toasted their own Quetzocoatl?

Let me be your tour guide when you must see an eclipse
Where Roman soldiers, millennia past, met one with quivering lips.
I can lead you down the halls where grand old Bach played a sforzando,
And show you bars where commoners danced to some ragtime scherzando.

Yet for all this I'd always have my stomach gripped acute;
For, while wandering thus, I want my home, square and minute:
A handsome country cottage on a land once some fresh homestead
Where a frontiersman's family toiled and slept and dined on cornbread.

There's gaunt and hardy phantoms known as Pinus sabiniana,
And when it's clear and moonless, we'll find Artemis and Andromeda.
With spring, the flowers burst into their complementary colors,
With snow, we'll read inside like interdisciplinary scholars.

I have witnessed Indian battles of opposing orthopraxies;
I have walked where Pharisees blew on their trumpets in hypocrisy;
I have trekked Great Plains once known by warriors on their appaloosas;
I've stayed in cities different as Hong Kong and Tuscaloosa.

But let me walk in thickets of buckbrush and manzanita
(Although a worldly snack will do, some hummus spread on pita)
My home is under oak trees donning Phoradendron villosum,
Living near fields, streams, foxes, deer, and that fiendish little possum.

Author's age when written

. . . just for fun : )


Okay, by the time I got to "Who's tasted cacao where Aztecs toasted their own Quetzocoatl?" I had furious jealousy in me hahahahaha. Have you really been all these places?!!

This line was so FUN:
"There's gaunt and hardy phantoms known as Pinus sabiniana,
And when it's clear and moonless, we'll find Artemis and Andromeda."

We're totally soul-sisters when it comes to the balance between traveling and wanting to own land and a cottage...even down to the desire to own a place where people ate cornbread ;) I love that imagery.

The pita line made me giggle, too. And the fiendish little possum hahahahha I love how you throw such lightness in with such grandness. This cadence has the feeling of a "walking tune" to me... and as usual, it required a second read, just to enjoy the words I don't know. Words I don't know tantalize and delight me, and you just run with the rhymes, so happily and perfectly.

OH WAIT, there's more!

Oh, WOW, "Alive".

"With peach and mint in ink as colored flakes" -- ugh, gorgeous.

aa;lskdfjl;asjd;fasjdf THIS LINE:
"Swing song, quick-stepped, trumpet-led. It makes
The two alive, somehow. Her hand he takes."
Marvelous. I admire so much when people can break sentences in the middle of poetry lines and *actually* make it work. It just adds such unexpected zing and zip.

I love how you end back with them still again, "decayed" to ink.

I also loved the concrete imagery in "It Seems Like a Decade Ago" -- that was delighted. You painted a picture that I gulped down tastily.

You honestly are such a talented poet.

Also, welcome to Boston, my hometown :P Or welcome a decade ago.

Oh my goodness thank you so much! You're so kind. : ) And haha no, I haven't been to all these places - I tend to write my poems in fiction, not autobiography (although most of the ideas are my own, like the love of both travel and home). I think that's because I have trouble sticking to a fictional novel long enough to see it through. : P

I love reading your comments, you mention things that I was exactly aiming for in my writing, so I'm happy to see it's actually been noticed!