Poem of the Week 6/19/18
You’re in the Grand Canyon,
you always said you’d go.
You try to absorb
what is before you,
but the vastness overwhelms.
the words are left alone in your head,
“Grand Canyon, Grand Canyon, Grand Canyon.”
You’re interrupted by
the sound of your childhood nickname.
Hearing this, you think
“Who is here that I love?”
because only the people you love
call you this.
Because hearing this name
means you are seen.
For this, you turn away from the vastness,
to find the voice
I’m at the grocery store.
I always pick a basket instead of a cart,
so I’m shifting the weight
from arm to arm,
relieved to arrive at checkout.
The clerk calls me “sir”
when he hands me my change.
Suddenly I am
hearing your name
in the Grand Canyon.
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