They say home is where the heart is.  
How poetic. How sweet.  
How utterly useless when you wake up in a bed that smells like someone else’s city,  
when the walls don’t know your voice,  
when the streets spit out syllables that trip your tongue.  

Tell me—does this look like home to you?  
A place where I walk like a stranger in my own shoes,  
where my laughter is softer, measured,  
where even my silence doesn’t sound quite right?  
I sit in a room filled with my own things,  
but they feel stolen, out of place,  
as if I’ve broken into a life that wasn’t meant for me.  

They smile at me, they nod, they talk.  
So kind. So welcoming.  
So oblivious to the weight I carry  
when I pretend that their way of life is now mine.  
Like it’s just that easy.  
Like you can simply unzip yourself from the past  
and slide into a new skin without bleeding.  

Back home—  
(ha, “home,” like it’s still mine to claim)  
the air was warmer,  
the sky softer,  
the ground held me like I belonged.  
Here, I am tolerated.  
Accepted, even.  
But belonging?  
That’s a different kind of luxury.  

So I go through the motions.  
I drink their coffee. I learn their roads.  
I adjust my mouth to their words,  
wear them like second-hand clothes,  
a little tight, a little loose, never quite fitting.  
And I tell myself, maybe one day,  
this place will stop feeling borrowed.  

Maybe one day, I’ll wake up  
and the walls will know my name.  

But not today.  
Not yet.  
Maybe never.

No bed is mine,
If I lay not with her.
There is no home for me,
If I cannot hold her, gazing into the sea.
I am citizen to no country,
Unless it is the territory of her lips.

A calm day,
Former agent Trevor Maximus rested,
Bathing in the sun of summer on his front porch,
A Coke can perched in his hand.
His eyes traced the flight pattern of a humming bird,
Flying silently through the warm summer breeze,
Hovering above the plastic bird feeder, drinking in it's refreshing reward.
Trevor let out a great sigh,
He always thought the artificial red color of the plastic bruised the beauty of the countryside,
Still, he refused to take it down, his late mother loved seeing those strange winged creatures drink from it.

It was then when he got the call,
A ring like screaming compared to the quiet of the country.
Trevor reached to answer the call, but hesitated,
What if he just let it ring? He could go right back to his cold Coke,
And the beautiful touch of the summer winds.
But he decided against it, he didn't have many friends so whoever was trying to reach him must need him desperately.
So he set down his drink and picked up his phone,
Though when he checked the caller ID, he didn't recognize it.
(276)-435-9009, a Virginia area code,
He looked around in a panic, when he had moved out he made a point of avoiding people,
Scared of making any ties.
Trevor took a deep breath and composed himself,
Swiping up the answer button.
"Hello? Trevor Maximus speaking?"
"Hello agent, you have three hours to make your way to the Goslting Square where I and my team will meet you. If you do not show up in the allotted time, we will come to you. Timer starts now."
Silence.

On the road, moving forward.
Destination random small-town Euphoria.  
Calm and peaceful visuals.
Green grass and trees.
Hilltop views that would make mountain views jealous.  
Down the country roads.
Over some unnamed creeks.
Passing over rivers I never knew.
It's a strange, beautiful peace.
It's what my mind awards me when I sleep and dream.
Town festivals with strangers.
So far away yet so close to home.  
And toward the end of it all.
A calm rain sings.
A soothing song of nature awakens me.

Sadness and rage
Boil under my skin
A fear, a desperation
Festering within.

We will not go back.
How can we?
How did we even get here again
In the first place?

I'm so angry,
And scared and nervous
For my own body
For many loved ones lives.

That orange ******* man.
The weak minds of his following
So much hate within him.
So much evil lurking.

I can't sleep sometimes
When the stirring gets too vast
It sits deep down, down, down
Inside my belly.

Get your bans of my body.
Anxiety rings in my mind.
And I won't pretend to even begin to understand
How others feel because I get that my skin is white.

Too much to hold internally
My body begins to shake
My head begins to pound.
My blood begins to boil.

I feel like lighting **** on fire.
Deep breathing doesn't help.
I feel like screaming.
I've got to let this out.

Just then I start to hear a whisper
A reminder traveling on the
Rustling leaves.

T R A N S M U T E
this energy.

Move into a place of love.
Let the tears flow.
Let the brush stroke.
Let the earth heal.
Let the rage guide.
Let the anger speak.
Let the fear release.
Let the words out.
Let the drum beat.
Let the feet stomp.
Let the hips dance.
Let the hands give.
Let the heart hold.
Let the love grow.
Let it rise up.
From the depths of your altruistic soul.

We are not going back.
We will vote to win.
We will not back down.
We will stand our ground.
We will walk with strength.
We will be hand in hand.
We will cross that bridge.
We will see love resound.
We will lift one another up.
We will not let fear win.
We will not let hate live.
We will prevail again, and again, and again.

©KSS 9/29/2024

To write the poem,
The one that you'll be known for,
Even beyond the day you fade to Heaven.

It takes a lifetime,
So if I'm lucky,
I still have 86 years,
To make that poem happen.

The wind chimes clink a sweet melody, blown by the soft evening air.
The fire is dying in the hearth as we say our good nights.
Some head out to the porch to listen to the sounds of the night,
Though I and the others head off to bed.
A coyote howls out in the forest, maybe on the cliff I found walking earlier.
My bedside candle is lit as I open my book.
As I read I listen to the calls of the owl, asking “Who is still out there, on this starry, cold, night?”
I blow out the flame and shut my book just as I hear them coming in.
I turn my head on my pillow and slip off into silent slumber.
Wondering what the next dawn will bring.