what the heart calls home

by ty

the entry i submitted for the national poetry festival, which helped me clamber up to be a finalist; also the piece i regrettably didn’t get to share at the reading this afternoon because things cropped up.

my parents say remarkable things
start small,
humble beginnings, rough seas, and
thin cracks running in a haphazard fashion against
the crevices of a young heart, footsteps uneven,
breaths unsteady.

we recall growing into the moulds once deemed
indefinitely large, when men had distinct dreams –
sketching an imitation of the firmaments they admired,
and only an imitation because
they could never imagine,
nor could they wish to capture every crevice
of the constellations.

as though still residing in flawless reveries,
we throw ourselves forth in an intricate dance,
setting free not just the physical containments of ourselves
but droplets, trickles and eventually waves,
waves of everything that pours forth from the pores of
our minds.

we traverse together, eyes shut, skin burning beyond temperature;
some might say that nature dealt us a bad hand of cards,

but it takes just a man at the start line : spectre of a chaotic palette,
sprite akin to the ignited path of an orb amongst celestial gems.

we’d run, bare feet against mud.

fervour runs through our veins,
fear dissipating through our clenched fists :
at the bottom of the ladder there’s nothing to lose,
and with toes dipped in the rising water,
we’ve been conditioned to move upwards

with a tapestry of growth, foreign ambition and authentic virtues
twirled around our ankles,
our gravity’s centered on this grown metropolis
and there can be no other when
this is where our roots tether firm.

we’re here, soles against gravel.

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