"Homeleaving" by Brent Allen Miller
Homeleaving
By Brent Allen Miller
A smoke scrim conceals the land
and fatigues the sun.
The gray dwelling stands
empty on overcast grass.
The hollow bay window stirs
memories of offkey notes
exhaled from a church organ:
the needy stink of backyard campfires
blankets my shoulders,
burrows soot under my fingernails,
kisses ash upon my cheeks;
indoors, rusty tweezers pluck
secrets from my brow.
Nourished by the dull daylight,
the secrets grow into lies.
With cagey hands, you cull the first falsehood:
I am just like the other boys.
The words weld the deceit to your foundation
but the heat severs my moorings.
I was Outsider.
I was without, afloat.
Within me, a quiet freedom
whispered like warm olive oil
and called away, away—
I followed the happy specter's song.
I breathe in the gauzy scrim
and the sun awakens to share its wisdom:
Only those who leave may find the sea
where all roads submerge into the briny tenderness of beginning.