The One Place
The One Place
I want to run in ten directions, want to pull my taffy limbs to the desert, the mountain, the coast, let myself fray, if I must, to be everywhere at once, which is absurd, if I refuse to be the one place I actually am.
Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
The Prompt
I’ve made it back home to Kentucky after spending eleven blissful days in the Pacific Northwest. Kentucky has been my home for 18 years now—far longer than anywhere else. And yet, anytime I make it to the Rockies or beyond, I come “home” with a case of homesickness—a whole-body yearning for mountains or high desert or crashing waves or coniferous giants, as well as for the many people I love who live far to the west of me. As I unpack today, I’m trying to allow that ache—but trying to keep my eyes open to the beauty that surrounds me here in the Bluegrass, too.
For today’s prompt, I offer you the title of my poem: “the one place” (or, if you prefer, simply the word “place.”)
Where is the one place that you feel or have felt most at home? Where is the one place that you hope never to go again? Where is the one place that you return to over and over for a meal out or a serene walk or a feeling for which you have no name? Where is the one place that makes you believe in God or in ghosts—or that makes you doubt everything?
Where is the one place where you can still get a good deal on tires or fresh fish or [insert random item of your choice]?
As always, remember that this prompt is just a starting place to help things get moving. Your poem doesn’t need to include the words “the one place” or even the word “place.” If you write a new poem that doesn’t touch on these themes and are looking for a place to share it, we’re still happy to hold space here!
Thanks for being in this place with me! I look forward to your poems and comments.
I love the image of you with taffy limbs, trying to be everywhere except (as it turns out) where you actually are.
.
Here’s mine:
.
I came in the later years,
when the place was dogeared
from too much attention
and heating up.
.
Still, I found a pocket
to pretend in,
wild enough for wolves.
But for Starlink, it could be
the day of my birth,
before the critical junctures,
before all possible futures
converge.
.
If I hold my breath, it’s like
the birds haven’t been told
to stop coming back.
The trees don’t know to burn.
I struggled to write one poem and somehow two popped out. Begging your pardons, I share them both!
There is a Place for You
^
Late night call
rising heartbeats and surge of fear,
man child voice whispers
“I want to come home.”
Another river to cross
In this ever evolving journey
of parenting.
^
“You’re 5 hours away,” I say,
and the night too thick
for that kind of walk.
Pivot to plan B, or is it C or D,
first year college journey,
twisting into a labyrinth
of the dreams we thought we shared.
^
Noah speaks of a class he is taking
“The Nature of Place,”
and the bright epiphany
that his beloved home
of warmth, care and love
is not so easily replicated.
^
Entry level reflections
for conversations through the years
of sacred place and space,
community and home,
belonging and be-loved,
until that moment
when a place becomes
a home.
^
There is a place for you,
dear children,
beyond the quiet meadows
of your origins.
May you find them safely
on this winding journey,
and know,
no matter how far your circles take you,
there is always a place for you
here, in the homelands of our hearts.
#2 There’s No Place Like Home…
^
They say
there’s no place like home,
a happy meaning implied,
but some homes
sit in shadows,
overcome by darkness and grey light,
bitter words and violent outbursts;
Spirals of dysfunction and decay
no safe places to hide.
Where the home that should be
Is out beyond the rainbows.
May this quiet poem
be as a prayer,
that all homes be
formed in loving kindness,
safe places and spaces,
dens of peace and compassion,
sanctuaries and sacred spaces
birthing shining seeds of true love.