543 Day Writing Journey

CLNC Revision. Day 65.

I wrote this poem on a plane a few years ago when I was flying to North Carolina from Massachusetts to visit Tyler. I compare the two states, the two places I love. They both tear me apart with their memories and people. I revised this poem a little to post today which is actually tomorrow because I am writing this on Wednesday.

“Today” I will be or I am in Washington, D.C. celebrating Veterans Day with many special folks and Baylee. My deep breaths are going to get me through, and many tissues, I am sure.

Happy belated birthday, USMC, and Happy Veterans Day!

Like that Hotel in California.
You know,
the one on the highway
in the desert?
It’s pretty dark.
I’ve checked out a time,
or two,
though can’t remain gone.

The thick air that fucks,
with my hair
and upper lip sweat.
The crunchy bugs that
move the scale and turn
their heads to see you.

The assholes on Western Blvd.
with their lime green Mustangs
and – or – Chevy Apaches
from nineteen-fifty-nine.

The Berthas and Frans and
Floyds.
Crushed trailers and seventy-six Walmarts.
But still,
But also,
Be still,
My heart.
Home.

My boy babies at those hospitals,
Your funeral with the generals and peee efff sees.

Six AM sunrise with sweet, tan coffee in
the Stanley with so much
chatter and brrrrrrr’s then.
It quiets and we absorb the orange star with our
hazels and blues and browns.
Hot beach sand scratching our heels.
Curling hair.

Pale Brown Caucasians who never
are too hot or too cold or
always are.
Sharable opinions and
forgiveness of elephants and donkeys.

There are no LSD’s or
53’s or 46’s
up here,
or hot biscuits and gravy
extra black pepper.

You can never leave even if your thin body stays or your fat body goes.
And you try to poke fun
but it feels as good as
the first burning sip of Jack and real Coke
or,
the second bite of macaroni
and cheese. Kraft. Straight.

All the black combat boots then tan,
and their invisible marines who
only show their hands and faces
and the clear doors they open.
Enter.
Exit and the thank you ma’am’s, nods
and the young creeps who
are not yours
or mine.
Youth.

Friday night lights and all
the dark
and we yell to the red Cardinals
while they play under the
metal, cool, seats,
Popcorn with salt
nachos no chili.

There’s no cool wind in my hair
or a beast to stab.
I stopped for the nights
and my first spirit remained.

So I go back,
and leave what I knew,
but not what I know.
The black bears and shy moose and
hot ham grinders with provolone.

Crystalized white water and the crunch.
Boots and sleds and driving
with 4 wheels.
Ear popping mountains covered
in evergreens that shine
after fall.
To be home
after I leave home
I am audibly stretched.
Not torn.

3 thoughts on “CLNC Revision. Day 65.”

  1. Dear Teri,
    “The assholes on Western Blvd. with their “lime green” Mustangs”…
    Gee, I used to own a “lime green” Plymouth GTX back in the day!!! “Oh, Oh”!!! O(

    Love,
    Uncle Lee 🙂

    Like

  2. Amazing writing. It is hard to feel the pull of home from 2 places. But the memories from the one you are not at will always be with you. 💕

    Like

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