Home

I borrowed a family once
And used them, all unknowing
As journey, destination, anchor
Like a tourist on a long trip
To a foreign place
Learning to blend in
Until almost, I seemed a native
And they, generous, hospitable
Embraced me, taught me, fed me,
Taught me the language,
Showed me their customs and included me
Until I felt like one of them.
But still, I was not a native,
and eventually, I had to come home.

Form: sonnet, blank verse (iambic trimeter, mostly), written while watching Lynn pass.

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