Do I know what makes me
Homesick?
With you gone, it's you
I miss you.
You who was always my
Home, my heart,
You were my hearth,the
Comfort
Of home is no comfort
Without
You. It is your warmth I
Miss.
I crave the comfort of
Home.
I miss you now that I am
Not by
Your side, I miss the part
Of me
That disappeared with you.
Our home
Is not my home anymore
It is not
What it always was, what
It should be,
With you no longer here.
Homesick,
It's wanting it like it
Was
Is it Spring where you sit,
Basking in the light of day,
Not yet necessarily warm but
There is a clarity in the air.
It feels like a forewarning,
We expect blossoms to bloom
And bask in the sunlight too,
Warmed into colors, full and
Abundant, brightening where
You sit, basking in the light
May I let the LLM write
My poetry for me. Is that
Ethical. Is that right? Is
It fair? It'll pick my words
For me or edit them. Pick
'em outta the air, or twist
'em and turn them to fit a
Narrative that isn't my own
We didn't have plans
For big trips or even
Little adventures. We
Just assumed we'd be
There for each other
And for tomorrow
Is it cruel to note the time
So soon after we lost an hour?
Time shifts, in a timeshift,
An hour ahead, an hour behind
Fall back, Spring ahead, more
Light, longer light, daytime
Still and it's now half past five
She holds two things in one
Hand and grabs another in
Her free hand, a balancing
Act that I admire. I could
Not do that. When could I
Juggle so many things at
Once, how old was I when
I could manage what she's
Up to, how old is she now?
It's your gravitational pull
That weakened me, made
Me wobble, like Saturn is
Drawn to Titan til it walks
Sideways through the sky.
It hugs the bark, held in a
Mutual embrace, holding
On against all odds, in the
Warmth of melting snow
It drips off balconies, yet
It blankets the rough pane,
Covers the edgy spaces on
This otherwise independent
Tree, in surprising symbiosis
Between snow and tree, the
Trunk stands bearded with
A dash of cushy white, will
The snow hold last another
Day?
When I was young, I looked ahead
To years I would spend facing the
Great unknowns, the unexpected.
When I was young, the future was
Not in the rearview but it loomed
Near and far. The future was just
Where I wanted it. Where it should
Loom. It was all my tomorrows. I
Loved its mystery. I anticipated
The twists and turns but did not
Know where it would lead me nor
Where I would follow. Today, the
Tomorrows may be fewer but I do
Not know what that future holds.
Now, that I am not young, I hold
The hope that the future brings a
Little closer and tighter. It will be
A surprise, I hope. Unexpected, a
Mystery lies in my tomorrows, or
Maybe if I am lucky there will be
Many mysteries. Still even now.
The churches along Northern
Boulevard are sprinkled next
To eateries, intermittent but
Fewer than the restaurants,
Of all denominations that dot
My route. A taste of America,
As befits a melting pot, its mix
Of cuisines a potpourri of all
Our origins, in tribute to where
You're from and where I'd like
To visit
Tamara, really