valley girl, home sweet home

my hometown. it is--

it is a million little moments stored into

a handful of miles;

a million different pieces of self wrapped into

a variety of smiles;

my hometown. it is

on fire. it is green and brown,

orange and red, black and grey.

the trees reach high above our heads,

while we sit on the edges of dirty sidewalks and

apologize when people walk too close to us.

my hometown.

the library on the corner of

the street perpendicular with Main.

the array of shops that we drive by often,

where my mom says "don't look in the windows,"

not because we'd want to buy the things

they display so proudly, but because of all

of the

"eccentricity"

of the things within.

my hometown. i've lived in

one,

two,

three,

four different

houses in this town,

all between living in other towns or

in other states, and, let me tell you,

it's the running joke that

we always come back.

my hometown. i know it

forwards and backwards,

upside down and right side up,

i know it in my sleep and i know it in my

heart. don't ask me the streetnames.

tell me where you want to go.

i'll take you there.

my hometown. we're

burning up. a wildfire.

a flame. some things

come back, like we do,

and this is just another one.

my hometown. the church, an off-white

building standing tall. i have memories here, memories

of running through the parking lot

with friends. i remember standing still and staring at the

pavement, wondering,

wondering,

wondering if we'd

come back this time.

my hometown. i'm here, again. i'm

back.

my hometown. it is--

it is a million little moments stored into

a handful of miles;

a million different pieces of self wrapped into

a variety of smiles;