poeming on a monday
it always feels like returning, when i go home to california.
the words i use about it, the way i think about it: i am the prodigal daughter, returning.
(i am the prodigal daughter in so many other ways.)
the ocean, the dried out golden hills, the cypress trees and eucalyptus and oak:
the landscape of my bones.
is there any wonder i am a californian, despite not being born there, despite not living there any more?
one day. one day.
one day i will return for good.
throw my ashes to the wind; see how the land and sea rise up to meet me.