After weeks on the road
Fighting and arguing
With my siblings and parents
Making pit-stops
Only so that we don't forget
How to walk
And strange beds
In strange hotels
In strange cities
I find myself here
In a small house
In a small town
At five in the morning
Disheveled and
Sleep deprived
I shuffle into the kitchen
Bundled up in a sweater
Against the cold
Wet
Summer
Morning
Somehow
It is all worth it
To see the whales
Swim in the harbour
Author's Notes/Comments:
Between grades 6 and 7, my family took a cross-country road trip to the closest thing I have to "The Old Country." That would be the island of Newfoundland. The home of my maternal grandmother. It was the farthest I have ever been from home, and it really changed me.
Fast forward to grade 12. At this time, Charles Bukowski opened my eyes to free verse and open verse poems. His short, staccato and to the point style was influencing my writing at the time. In a "drill" for my writer's craft class, I wrote most of the first stanza on a scrap of paper. I found it a while later and liked it. I expanded and refined it, until it reached this point.
