Aug 2012
And to think,
That I’ve learned to trade warm summer nights
Window breezes against sweaty foreheads
Quiet suburban nights
With the feeling of fog against my skin
And images
Of blurry streetlights
Cradled against dripping water
Golden gate clouds and
Ocean breaths
It’s been almost a year
Since I’ve learned the language of the north
And let it slide off of the tip of my southern tongue until it turned into condensation
Since I moved
That much closer to the sea
And away from palm trees
near steep hills
And away from flat land
I still have nights
where I wrap myself around warmth
To remind me of home,
To remind me of late night drives to empty grass lots on top of hills
To remind me of maroon and gold
To remind me of the silence of streets after night
And how silence could make you feel so full
And to think,
The one place that I tried to escape
Would become the topic of this love poem.
Dear West Covina,
For a while I forgot the definition of home.
I forgot
That your green and gold shields
Like entrances into safe havens
Could remind me so much of myself
And how you
Were so good to me
And when I first left
When I first,
Packed all my things into a car and drove 400 miles away without plans to return
Without a promise or a goodbye
I meant it
And the truth is,
I still mean it now
But sometimes,
You seem tempting to come back too,
You remind me that humble
Can be more than a word
And that family
Is the foundation for roots
And I’m still a shrub
Hoping that someday I can look like a tree
And say I finally did it
Say that I finally left your grasp
And did it before it was too late
But sometimes I’d like to say I’m sorry
For every time I cut a strand that still needed to grow
And for every time
That I took for granted what you did for me
And how in the end
You weren’t so bad
And your arms still have room for me like you did when I first met them 14 years ago in the peak of the summer
where our first house opened its door to us like a guardian
And how regardless of the amount of pain red and yellow kitchens bring
I can still sleep better in your white angel couches than anywhere else
And when I step outside on summer nights
There is a small breeze
And I know
That you will still
Remember
My
Name.
That I’ve learned to trade warm summer nights
Window breezes against sweaty foreheads
Quiet suburban nights
With the feeling of fog against my skin
And images
Of blurry streetlights
Cradled against dripping water
Golden gate clouds and
Ocean breaths
It’s been almost a year
Since I’ve learned the language of the north
And let it slide off of the tip of my southern tongue until it turned into condensation
Since I moved
That much closer to the sea
And away from palm trees
near steep hills
And away from flat land
I still have nights
where I wrap myself around warmth
To remind me of home,
To remind me of late night drives to empty grass lots on top of hills
To remind me of maroon and gold
To remind me of the silence of streets after night
And how silence could make you feel so full
And to think,
The one place that I tried to escape
Would become the topic of this love poem.
Dear West Covina,
For a while I forgot the definition of home.
I forgot
That your green and gold shields
Like entrances into safe havens
Could remind me so much of myself
And how you
Were so good to me
And when I first left
When I first,
Packed all my things into a car and drove 400 miles away without plans to return
Without a promise or a goodbye
I meant it
And the truth is,
I still mean it now
But sometimes,
You seem tempting to come back too,
You remind me that humble
Can be more than a word
And that family
Is the foundation for roots
And I’m still a shrub
Hoping that someday I can look like a tree
And say I finally did it
Say that I finally left your grasp
And did it before it was too late
But sometimes I’d like to say I’m sorry
For every time I cut a strand that still needed to grow
And for every time
That I took for granted what you did for me
And how in the end
You weren’t so bad
And your arms still have room for me like you did when I first met them 14 years ago in the peak of the summer
where our first house opened its door to us like a guardian
And how regardless of the amount of pain red and yellow kitchens bring
I can still sleep better in your white angel couches than anywhere else
And when I step outside on summer nights
There is a small breeze
And I know
That you will still
Remember
My
Name.
