[Originally published on July 25, 2006, not one word different, but with graphic added.]
On reading a novel set in San Francisco –
All the talk of Golden Gate, Marina,
Presidio, the Park, Mission District,
Point Reyes, Muir Beach, Tamalpais,
The blue Pacific, the great gray whales
Serenely going south from their summer
Habitation down to Mexico –
I get California on my mind, my
Native home, my birthplace, the Valley
I’ve disparaged for its open expanses
Not so congenial as the close-in
Embracing Piedmont forest of Carolina
But a home once, a child’s habitat,
A teenager's world, and the ocean beaches,
Unreally beautiful as an artist’s canvas dreamworld
And I know, despite many years’ denial to
All who ask, that I miss California more
Than the forty-three minutes I last time
Claimed since I came to this place where
I write this poem and reminisce and, perhaps,
Really, for the first time since my
Gain of Carolina, feel my loss of California
| Copyright © 2017 by Moristotle |
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