Monday, August 06, 2018

Home is not a place

Last night I dreamed I was back in Pola,
lying on the bed where I used to sleep,
in the old house made from trunks of Narra.
There were strangers who were welcoming me
“You’re finally home,” they said, “You’re the boy 

who was brought here when you were just three months
old.” Indeed, I recognized the same house 
by the sea, the sound my Grandma makes as 
she sweeps the street in the early morning,
the gentle rhythm that used to calm me.

But not last night in my dream as I was
restless. And I shouted at the strangers.
“Where is she? Take me to her! This is not
my home!” And I woke up and clutched your hand, 
thinking, my home is wherever you are.

Tango Celeste

You’d be surprised to know this tune
is about winning a horse race
Por Una Cabeza, which means
by a stallion’s head. It reminds

me how twenty one years after
we’re dancing to this beat, inspired
by Al Pacino. Taking turns
to lead and follow, trying not

to break the rhythm, laughing
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
and being laughed at the way that

we normally do, when someone
has taken a thing seriously
like me tonight, tipsy on gin,
dancing like a Japanese pug.

The night that I asked you to be 
my wife, I almost missed, because
a meeting took too long, traffic
got in the way, you’ve been waiting.

You left, your patience expired
I caught you not a second late, 
Por Una Cabeza, I could 
be singing this song instead, me

alone, guitar in hand, childless
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
were it not for a stallion’s head.