How a Poem Starts.

she called to me across the plains and rocky mountains,
the Black Hills and where bison sun near sulfur pools

she found me among the palm trees swaying in briny sea air,
among fat Deglet Noor dates filled with cream cheese

she called me back to her rivers
running wildly and madly

a steel city built with the palms of men that called the shores
their home

with her spires of glass and stone and light
and hope

even though the salt of the Pacific still sifts quietly in my blood
burns slightly in my eyes at the thought of my mother and father
so far away

because I belonged somehow

because I knew this would be my home