Going Home

Last week, I listened to

A Syrian poet, from Damascus,

Tell us how homesick he was

For a place, where he loved everyone,

And everyone loved him.

We talked afterward and I

Told him how his words resonated with me.

How it reminded me of a beloved song:

“I lived in the mountains

I had a lot of fun

I knew a lot of people and

I loved everyone around me”.

Damascus, Syria, meet

Turkey Creek, West Virginia.

This morning, I drink coffee alone 

at my cabin,

Thinking of good friends, some of

Whom have changed worlds,

Who sat in this kitchen with me,

Eating, drinking, laughing, being imperfect.

Nostalgia has always been my struggle.

Always with me.

I was the only 5 year old 

who used to long

 For all the good times gone by.

My great-aunt Frankie used to say:

“Moments never stay, but

Memories do.”

She used to say all those things.

But, today, this morning, I realize

I am being nostalgic for

A time that really isn’t over.

I listen to my son’s bluegrass CD.

I read a friend’s book of poetry.

I look at pictures of holler gatherings gone by.

And, I respond to a text that pings:

“Hey, asshole, how long

 You going to be in?

We need to get together.”

-Greg Clary