Houses for Each Other

I’ve told any local who feels safe to tell,
These aren’t my people,
Though plains have fed me most my days.

And with the confession I push
Each listener away: You aren’t like me.
And what would anyone say,
Then, to offer comfort?

So I remain without people,
Restless, homeless at home
For over a decade.

My son’s favorite white rapper
Said this morning over bacon, sizzling
Deep inside his grin:
We are houses for each other.

Again I am confronted
With my own arrogant standing above
And apart from good people

Who have lived inside their lives so fully
They blink when I point at water
Where they swim.
Water, I say.

Why point at water?
I row across a great sea of sage
In a minivan every day—empty,

Except for me.
The sky is growing, and space.
I am trying to catch up, let everyone
Live in me. And leave.

2015