We Live in Texas

Greg Tuleja

We live in Texas now, and Oregon, and Rome,
dispersed, our blind intentions lifted up and cradled down,
toward sleek sea-side apartments, or a dusty border town,
so many, many miles from our home.

It exists now only as the faintest memory,
which should be strong and good, but might not
always be, except for tiny sacred moments,
in speckled shade that quivers on the gate,
a falling breeze, and netted butterflies,
and from the porch, a plaintive cry, come in now,
it’s time for dinner, the streetlights are on.

I can see them glowing, and the high hedges,
the basement window, cracked, and the curb
where I used to sit, and I can hear
the milkman clanking, and ice cream bells,
a smell of apples and hot tar steaming in the road,
but as I strain to look inside, I cannot see them,
just the empty room where once they stood.

We live in Texas now, and Oregon, and Rome,
and though we keep a tender heart, we’re comforted to learn
that time can never be reversed, and we cannot return
to find our histories, our past, the place we once called home.

Editor’s note: Mr. Tuleja’s poem is published in The Heart of All That Is, an anthology on the theme of home. Read more about the anthology on Amazon. Or visit the Holy Cow! Press page here. Mr. Tuleja is the Williston Northampton School’s Academic Dean.

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