in an attempt to trace my roots to the source,
i find the place i was born.
an apolitical absence of history -
it is just a building.
and i am struck with a yearning to be held;
to be one with someone again.
my feet fall heavy,
they know my head is too full.
the road cobbled with worry,
the paving stones swirl with thought.
i do not know what i crave
is my life so lacking in connection?
placing pins in my fingers i try to find my coordination on a map,
my true north is skewed,
ripped and stuck back down,
placed in arbitration around me,
to keep me confused.
i am stood
i am still!
i am waiting
please find me.
my elusive meridian,
greets me with a patient smile.
(i’m so glad you called)
Photo Credit: Unsplash
Leave a Reply