Back Home

by Zola Hjelm

Hear the clank of feet on wood planks

Hear my steps like the bad seed clapping her shoes

god’s lightning never comes

But the ship’s whistle does

and parts us from the pier

Even crossed arms can not defeat wet cold

salt lies stiff in hair,

lashes, brows

takes in my clammy hands

like a lover I never could keep

I tremble, not from cold

nor from this ship which caught a whale’s rumble-

that shook platforms

It was the anxiety of lost childhood

Speaking clear in my ear

heavenly tones ringing the call

to home.

I still own a coat’s accidental playground tumble

still own pockets of childlike bliss

still own that frivolous comfort pushing me on neighborhood swings-

There is no ride taking me back

and sand between these creases of clothes

are now all but an edition of time,

slipping through fingers

hyperextended from premature hands

ignorant of the physics on grasping an object

Grains fall to the motherland

a place accurate- but seemingly so inapt

And the gates are closed, golden closed, silver closed, closed in brass

and blessings.