You can never go home, they say. What they mean
is that the place you remember isn’t the same
as what’s there now. Everything changes, you know.
Things put on new faces or disappear. New things
tower from places where there was nothing before.
So when you cruise in, it takes time to get your bearings,
even though this is the place where you were born.
You have to scout around a bit, act the part of a tourist
until the familiar emerges from behind the new mask,
until the memories float up from the fragments time
let stand. They’ll be enough to anchor you.
Home is home, the place where your heart
began beating, where you took your first breath.
You hold what was. It shows you what is.
Together you can make your tomorrows.