How do you say goodbye to a place?
How do you hug the winding streets
and kiss the clouds above the parks?
How do you say “Promise I’ll call you”
to the grocery store on the corner
or wipe the tears from a rose bush?
How should you leave a room?
Should you be homeless for a while
to let the cold wind brush your skin
after it cracked in the scorching sun,
to remember who you are
without a roof above your heart?
Are you allowed to fall back in love
with your old apartment
at the end of summer?
Can you love more than one city
and will their rivers forgive your
How do I say goodbye to you, home?
Cells of mine blended with your walls,
we’ve become a human-house hybrid
with a scent of couches and toothpaste.
I try to show your windows
the openness of my heart
as I offer your front door
the caress of my hand.