Traverse

Traverse

By Rosie Wilcox

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. -Robert Frost

For my father, he taught me the true meaning of home.

Featuring:

Home,

Homesickness,

Memories,

And the wind.
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I folded up the sunny days,

The laughter I recall,

The peace of overcast,

Tucked them into my pocket,

And left home.

I ventured off into the

Traffic grid, and viewed the city,

An ant to the scrapers of sky.

My dollars changed hands,

And made a universal arc,

Maybe now they are rotting

Away in a basement,

Or tossed by a hungry breeze.

I marveled at the strength

Of human-kind,

Which may also be stupidity,

Or perhaps misplaced ignorance.

I reached into to my pocket

Removed the memories,

But they were snatched away,

By a foreign, smoggy wind,

Carrying them off

To god knows where.

Maybe he’ll tell me.