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.