“Made it Home” by H. Walker
I have to remind myself I’m from somewhere else…
sometimes, it’s all the things I’ve come to know that make me hesitant to claim any more than I can hold within my arms…
other times, it’s all the inner workings of what I have yet to know that keep me owning only what memory and intention allow me to dream…
but there are times, being here, that I want to forget it all and forge ahead, onward to somewhere else…
where these new ghosts are afraid of heights, and I will climb even higher to outrun them and their haunting…
I’m not from here, I’m from somewhere else on the other side of the Great Lake where the shore spans the entire eastern border of the city I call home…
sometimes, I like to believe I’m from nowhere, so old passages can’t claim me
…because I never was…
sometimes, I believe that hopelessness is a myth, that truth is a moving car parking around a corner I don’t reach because I walked in another direction…
and sometimes I believe the best thing about life are the endings that begin something else altogether if I look closely enough and just listen…
but you…
you sent me flying away…
BEING 40 SOMETHING 