Sunday, August 17, 2008

Sunday morning in the city

And there are so many sights
and sounds to remind me that I'm home.

Gypsy cabs honking on the boulevard,
Korean cooks, and Haitian seamstresses,
each hustling to earn enough to send home to their families,
far from the crush of our immediate here and now home.

NY (Brooklyn to be precise),
not the home of my youth,
or even the home where I left my children to grow up within,
but home nevertheless!

Here, in the cradle of my immediate family,
still I long to see my sons and hear their laughter,
answer their questions and wipe away their tears.

But, as is often the case,
nothing lately is ever certain about
our being able to connect this time,
and in that, there is a deepr sadness that's harder to handle than
when I'm 3,000 miles away from this home.

@ this home, a neighbor
plays a piano somewhere done the block.
@ this home, Manuel stops in to show some
of his latest work, and we reminisce together
about all the moments missed since last
we were together here,
in this other place we've learned to call home.

Home, it's nice to be here,
nicer still to be closer to those
I've been so far away from in my absence,
and yet, this home, is so much less
than what I always dream it to be,
when I'm imagining it from the
distance of my other home,
in the valley where I dream about my home!