Independence Day

Fireworks drown
out the stars,
while an old Ford pickup
waits packed and ready.

I stand gazing,
upon my home of
twenty-plus years,
thinking I would be more prepared.

Home becomes
the parent’s house,
and a strange place becomes home.

Though we can always
“go back home.”

It’s never the same,
our stuff doesn’t litter the corners,
our food isn’t in the fridge, and
our favorite mug isn’t in the cabinet,
waiting for morning coffee.

We still call it home,
for it’s littered with memories
of our past.

There are pencil marks on the wall
marking how much we had grown over the years.

Pictures of family get-togethers
and our achievements line the mantle.
Proving that we lived there,
handprints in the concrete steps
forever staking our claim on this home.

I turn to start a new chapter in my life,
looking forward to making a strange place home.
I always know that my heart will be here,
with the pencil marks, the mantle of photos,
and the little handprint on the steps with K.S. and ’95 beside it.

The fireworks drown out the stars,
as an old Ford pickup, drives away.

Kim Sealock
7-27-19

Taste of Green

The taste of green
is rainwater and dirt,
like that of a cucumber
fresh from the garden.

The taste of green
is crisp and refreshing,
like a salad in
the dog days of summer.

The taste of green
is sweet droplets of
kiwi juice running down
one’s chin.

The taste of green
is the bitter aftertaste
of lime, clinging to the
taste-buds.

The taste of green
is a deep inhale
after the grass
has just been cut.

Kim Sealock
7-21-19

Changing Lanes

Nostalgia burns the eyes
as it plucks one’s heartstrings
to a familiar tune of a forgotten melody,
that gets stuck in our heads,
and we hum along
though we don’t know the words.

At first, one’s stomach sinks with the news
that things are changing,
and the realization that leaving home
is permanent this time.

We forget the tight embrace community has
until it comes together,
to wish us good luck on impending journeys,
and to help us up as life knocks us down.

We forget our impact
until someone presents us with a life touched
by our kindness and a smile.

We forget that people care
until we see it,
gifts of farewell for remembrance,
the cracking voices,
the miss you’s, the thank you’s,
the welling of tears in the corners of eyes.

Nostalgia hurts
even when it’s feeling better
because we can never relive the past,
only remember it
as it gradually fades into nothing but a memory.

Kim Sealock
4-18-19

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