by Avery Markle
Even after traveling for days,
Meeting people with accents I have trouble understanding,
And watching fog roll over different landscapes –
Tangled up in blue.
Tasting southern sodas and magnolia fields,
And feeling hail bruise my skin as the clouds are swallowed by sun.
Crushing new dirt beneath my soles,
Crying over bodies I’ve never met,
Seeing fields of farmers who’ve made a living out of earth and sky,
Watching lovers retreat to musty hotels,
Yearning to touch glass lakes,
And the bones of castles who watch over like God.
Counting ancient houses in hills of towns that resemble Italy,
Tracing golden eyes in tree bark,
Listening to voices tell stories that belong to the dead,
And dreaming as sunsets engrave themselves over rose fields and tombs.
I’ve yet to feel at home