You’ll know when you get there.
You’ll be surprised, a fever may come.
You might have to sit and stare off.
When you leave you will weep.
staring and trying to remember
as much as possible. It won’t help
You’ll scratch your insides
to ask why you can’t return.
You’ll try to rationalize
the big the city, the prairie grass.
you’ll say a river is good enough.
that there is more opportunity
where you are, better schools,
better job market.
you’ll even say you can go
home and visit.
You’ll say people move on
but despite all yourself talk
you won’t be the same.
Visiting won’t give peace. You’ll leave.
You will say, its time to
take advantage of the new place. You’ll try,
you’ll look at the people and their hem lines.
You’ll find old buildings and new lace shops
but it won’t be enough.
You’ll fake it for years.
You’ll bitter, and save money,
hope to buy that little cabin.
But you won’t. You’ll stay in limbo.
Knowing your dying but thinking
you are doing the right thing.
Your heart will break. Again and again.
You’ll make new friends
and find new ways to express the hole.
You’ll read your poems to strangers.
your stretch yourself out and in
but it won’t matter.
You’ll still miss her.
You’ll still want to return to lake superior.
Even the warmer climate won’t be enough.
Land locked you’ll damn alone.
Smart enough to hide your wanderlust
your craft will become
the source of replacement.
You’ll miss the library
with the sacks of poetry people.
The rocks, o the rocks,
you’ll be attracted
to all rocks and touch every
fugging one you can, and say,
send a vibe back north.
You’ll miss October’s face,
its eyes, its grin, its sway.
It teasing you.
You’ll miss February and her doe
that is shy and curious.
Your miss June’s sass
and March’s enlightenment.
You’ll miss December’s
scotch and savior conversation.
You’ll miss August’s acceptance and wit,
strength and hot friendship.
You’ll miss May’s perception,
its soft anger, that grows on the world.
You’ll plan to gather your months
at her shore but it won’t happen.
Goose pump you, will follow someone
else’s lead, your gentle job’s.
You’ll hate yourself for it,
for doing the right thing, ever.