Day 19: Hometown

My hometown is the same as my

Mother’s whose own mother was born only

Fifteen miles south, slowly growing north.

Her favorite story, she whispered with a girlish

Smile as we crossed that bridge over Grimesland: 

When I was a girl, I burnt down those woods

Over there.

My hometown is the same as my

Father’s, where he moved from dirt and

Disrespect across town - away - to a family 

He could call his own.  Each time he looked -

at us, at home - his eyes gleamed

Bright and blue.

My hometown is the same as my

Sister’s, who escaped briefly to that college

Town on a hill two hours west,

Only returning to a small headstone

In the middle of the green graveyard –

Beside my father’s, below grandmother’s in the center

Of my hometown.

My hometown is the same as my six-year old

Son’s, born in the same hospital as me,

His eyes wide open and blue.  His favorite story

Is of my mom walking into the nursery

His first day on Earth. As she bent closer

To whisper love and adoration, his newborn hand

Responded, wrapping around her pointer finger

At the hospital in our hometown.