It is not that I have the urge to run away,
I just have the urge to run toward anywhere but
where I am.
Sequoia has called my name for lifetimes now and
I have ignored it’s siren song for far too long.
Emotions are like stepping stones.
Some are loose and long to be unearthed
while others are stubborn, jagged, and lingering.
In Sequoia, the trees are to be trusted.
Their reliable roots grip deep into mother Earth.
She holds them, limp and twig, leaf and bud.
I long for a trust like Sequoia.
Part of me is still in Oklahoma, my dorm,
shoving on shoes that will never fit.
My body is in bed,
but my mind is on an Arizona highway
searching for my soul in the blatant sun.
My mind is on a Montana mountainside
staring at the sprawl of an ancient glacier.
My mind is in my childhood home
combing through dusty boxes
for pieces of my mother before the divorce,
In New York, the MET, Gogh’s self portrait,
Illinois, Round Lake, 4th of July 2009.
My body is in bed but my mind is in Sequoia.
The trees are bigger than my ego and
The wind is nothing Oklahoma, it’s slow.
I think Heaven left a piece of itself on Earth;
I won’t tell if you don’t.
