Home

I didn't understand
their pull.
The way they spread
their rolling, green magnificence
in all the right corners.
Burning themselves
in the retina
forever.
The tree that stands alone
a pile of rocks at it's base
in the middle of a sloping
cow pasture,
my great-grandmother's house,
the ball field where
I slid into home plate.

I see them all now
from the driver's seat
my little red Nissan
pecking along
but my heart see's them
from the back of my dad's
pickup
The wind swirling my hair
into tiny whips
that beat at my cheeks
while the Virgina mountians
whisper me home.