23. A New Home
A New Home
I was my mother’s flower child,
the one who helped her grow moly
and visit an open pyre
where we would build a small fire
and she would play with the smoke,
swirl it till it became messages
she would give to her waiting Oracles.
Her careful craft was hypnotic,
and there in the garden
with the distant sound of birds.
I thought it would be my life forever.
Between green grass and blue skies,
the sound of the sea so close by.
Here I was so far under the earth
I could only see the roots of trees.
I once ate fruit from
orchards that belonged to us.
Nothing grew underground.
Because nothing could grow
where everything came to die.
I was hungry and I was expected now
to name this dead place home .