Clean Slate
coast born palm trees
free sunsets fried plantain
pirated cds cheap gasoline
life unstained still in need of a clean slate
these planes linger between borders
and take me places i shouldn't see;
as the caribbean fades from me
spanish becomes second nature
and past horizons stay dead everywhere
but inside me.
home is fleeting; with time
reduced to naked roofs and hotel rooms.
oceans infinite puddles
by the window seat,
charles de gaulle a dream at thirteen
turned burden at sixteen.
lorde understands,
"i'll never go home again"
and i tear up, find myself related
to all the ways i won't go back.
i could visit every year,
study the maps knowing it’d change nothing.
i could visit every year,
knowing it goes beyond presence
into my changed core.
knowing my soul is not one
with the soil that had me raised.
wondering if who i'm becoming is worth
this confusion; in such denial
of clean slates and absolution.
17/08/2014
Orlando, FL
by Abigail J. Villarroel