In all the world where everything looks the same there are little pockets of my people.
My people curse and chew with their mouth open and insult you with their wit and sly observations.
I am always missing my people. Even when I’m with my people there’s a people missing. There’s a space I can smell and feel just beyond the borders of where I am. My people ask me if I’m happy to go home to be home and I say yes but what I really mean is for now. For now because somewhere is another home calling my name and I try to quiet that call but it is always there – a tinny ringing in my ears. I’m trying to be present in the swaying sea. Trying to hold my ground in a swift current. A rushing tide.
Sometimes I don’t give you the time or the space to speak. You may think it is because I don’t want to hear or because I do not care. That is not true. Mostly I just know what you want to say, what you have to say, and you don’t need to say it. I already know. But I forget sometimes that people do need to say things aloud. For the benefit of all. I will try. When I am not surprised it is not because I think you’re stupid or because I wasn’t listening; I just don’t know how to respond to things I already know.
Let’s swish coconut oil around in our mouths. Let’s follow the tracks down to the old bridge and watch the light on the water. Let’s go anywhere where home doesn’t matter.